


Grazed Knees

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 77,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The anticipation and dread he felt at seeing her was also a kind of sensual pleasure, and surrounding it, like an embrace, was a general elation—it might hurt, it was horribly inconvenient, no good might come of it, but he had found out for himself what it was to be in love, and it thrilled him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> When I first came up with the idea for this story, I instantly shied away from it. I’d already written my Dramione, I didn’t need to do another. But, as was the case with Lullabies, I hadn’t done quite what I wanted. Broken was and still remains my largest contribution to this site, a Marauders fic like I’ve never seen. I put my everything into all forty chapters, and I pushed forward to finish it and make it what it is. That said, it wasn’t great, it wasn’t even all that good. There are countless complications with time (dates), the plotline didn’t make sense at times (Lucius Malfoy, to my surprise, did not go to school with the Marauders, despite what I was adamant on believing back then), and it wasn’t well written. Regardless, I still love the story today, and that love was what brought me to Lullabies. I had to do something different.
> 
> After finishing Unforgivable, I knew I wasn’t done. Something still felt empty, something still felt incomplete. And so I sat down, on February twelfth, and it took me an hour and a half to write the first opening paragraphs. After that, it was like magic. Yes.
> 
> What you’re about to read is one of the finest works I will ever publish on this site. It has been combed through time and time again, it has been perfected with accurate dates, disclaimers, and warnings on changes. It is one of the closest to canon stories (minus the pairing, obviously) that I’ve ever written, and I feel I’ve done this pairing justice, finally.
> 
> So. I now present to you my Dramione novel. It isn’t short, I will say that. It’s actually thirty-five chapters in length. It isn’t instantaneous, and it isn’t always happy. There’s heartbreak, and there’s anger, and there’s secrecy, but, most importantly, there’s a story to be told. And now, without further ado, I pass you on to my words, my hard work, Grazed Knees.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco almost smiled, and then he caught himself. He was becoming too comfortable, he was letting go. He just nodded and turned back as Slughorn started his lesson. He had to be more careful.

_one._

_i._

_Please don’t let this turn into something it’s not_

_October fourth._

_1996._

Draco sighed.

 

To his left, Pansy Parkinson was sitting too close, she kept trying to hold his hand, and she was blinking her eyelashes up at him.  Once upon a time, when he was barely thirteen, he loved having her flaunt around him, loved watching her dote on him and kiss him on the cheek.  Once upon a time, when he didn’t _loathe_ her.  She was talking to him, though he didn’t care to listen.  Her voice finally broke his world when she whined especially loudly, and he closed his grey eyes briefly to compose himself before turning them on her.  It was the first time he’d looked at her since school had started.  She seemed taken aback at the hollowness of his gaze, and she instantly leaned back, blinking.  She asked him a question, one he didn’t hear and one he ignored.  She sighed angrily, but he didn’t care.

 

He sat slouched, his elbows on the table, one palm resting on the side of his face, and he stared at his plate, uninterested and not hungry.  He could faintly hear Blaise talking about Quidditch that year; he still hadn’t told them he wouldn’t be playing this year.  He was glad Blaise had taken on the role of captain, for he would have laughed had they asked him.  Though, it had quickly come to their attention that Draco no longer _cared_.

 

Blaise was staring at him.  Draco noted this out of the corner of his eye, though he didn’t make any movement to respond or to acknowledge him.  Blaise finally looked away, rolling his eyes.  He looked up, removing his eyes from the table, and he let his gaze wander slowly.  He skimmed right over the trio; teasing them was far beyond his to-do list nowadays.  He settled for the staff table.

 

_Kill him._

The voice slithered through Draco like fire, and he winced, dropping his gaze.  He’d been given the order in August, three hours before his mother ran to Snape, his stupid Aunt Bella coaxing her into the idea.  He hated her, Bella.  He couldn’t quite put his tongue on it, why he was so disgusted by her, but he certainly knew that he didn’t like her.

 

He flicked his gaze back up to the staff table for the briefest moment before the order could penetrate his wall again before sighing and looking away.  His stony grey eyes fell back to the trio, and he paused, blinking.  Harry wasn’t facing him, though his back was hunched and his shoulders were squared, as though he were angry.  He arched an eyebrow as Harry slammed a fist onto the table, and Hermione jumped at the movement, tearing her gaze away.  Her eyes were glassy, her features were distraught.  Ron instantly looked to her, and the desperation in his movements forced Draco to look away.  He didn’t care what was bothering them, as long as they didn’t get in his way.

 

Pansy stood beside him, and he watched her go.  Confusion furrowed in his brow, and he lifted his wrist to check his watch: twenty to eight.  He was taking only four classes this year, as he’d decided he had more pressing problems to deal with.  Today was Friday, and so he had a double lesson of Potions in the morning, lasting until eleven o’clock, and a break until one when he went to Defense from four to five thirty.  The same occurred every Monday and Wednesday, though on Tuesday and Thursday, he had Transfiguration from nine to ten thirty and Charms from one to two thirty.

 

“Are you coming, Draco?”

 

He blinked.  He turned only halfway, noting Pansy’s annoyed stance before turning back.  He didn’t respond, didn’t even shake his head, and she just sighed and clicked away in her heels, Blaise, Theodore, and Daphne going with her.  He looked up again, eyes settling once more on the trio.  Hermione was speaking rather quickly, and angrily, he noted, as she stuffed a book into her bag and swung her legs off the bench.  She leaned forward, one hand balancing her on the table, and she muttered something very sharply before turning on her heel and stalking off, brown curls tumbling around her shoulders and bouncing off her back as she went.

 

Draco stood, not really aware of his actions.  He lifted his bag onto his shoulder before walking off, his pace brisk.  He passed by Harry and Ron, who instantly stopped talking when he walked by.  They presumed their conversation once he was farther away, though he paid them no mind as he continued out of the Great Hall.  He spotted her soon enough, stopped by a corner at the end of the hall.  He pushed forward, though she stepped away from the corner and went around it, causing him to frown.

 

He pulled himself to a stop, brow furrowed.  Why was he going after Hermione Granger?  Draco shook his head before going forward, slower.  He made his way through the intricate sets of hallways and stairs until he reached the dungeons.  A curtain of brown curls nearly stopped him, and she looked up as he approached, instinctively rolling her eyes and looking away again.

 

Something tugged him forward, a force he would never be able to explain, and his feet led him to a few steps away from her, a curious look on his face.  She turned her gaze slowly, shock evident in her features, though anger pulsed through her eyes.  They stared at each other for a few moments before Draco opened his mouth.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

 

She blinked.

 

“I saw you leave the Great Hall.  You looked like you were crying at the corner,” he explained, and he almost reached up a hand to brush a thumb across her cheek, just to check.

 

She blinked again, clearly confused and baffled.  Someone grabbed his shoulder suddenly, and he flinched.  Hermione caught the fear as it crossed his features before disappearing in a cold, stone wall.

 

“Get away from her,” Ron growled, wrenching him back and shoving him in the chest.

 

“Ron,” Harry said quietly from behind him, eyes trained on Draco.

 

He stood there a second longer until Ron directed his wand at him, and he stepped back, turned, and walked into Potions.  He could hear them talking quickly outside, but Hermione dismissed them almost instantly and stomped into the classroom, going to their usual seat near the front.

 

Draco watched as she begrudgingly fell into her seat in the middle and the boys sat on either side of her.  Harry touched her arm, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but she whipped her head to face him, curls swinging through the air.  Ron ducked them, instead opening his book and sighing.  She snapped something inaudible at Harry that made him sigh and look down.  Blaise caught his attention as he sat next to him, and his friend turned to face him.

 

“What’s going on, mate?  You haven’t said a word to us since Tuesday.”

 

It was true.  He’d been digging deeper and deeper into the hole of himself, blocking out the world and surrendering to his darkest thoughts.  He’d been separating, distancing himself from all of his _friends_ , from all those who weren’t suffering under the weight of _the order_.  He’d managed this in the past, disappearing behind his stone walls for weeks at a time without them worrying too much, but Blaise was his dearest and closest friend, a friend he found hard to ignore.

 

Draco shrugged, nonchalant.  He tried to convey a mood of serenity, though he hadn’t felt such in months.

 

“You know you can talk to me right?”

 

Draco sighed.  It was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend nothing was wrong, and so he gave Blaise a sliver into him, a small shred that he knew would stop him from continually asking.

 

“Just my father,” he murmured, shrugging again, “You know how he is.”

 

“You shouldn’t worry about him, mate.  He’ll come around.”

 

“You’ve been telling me that for nearly six years.”

 

“Well,” Blaise said with a smile, “Someday, I’ll be right.”

 

Draco almost smiled, and then he caught himself.  He was becoming too comfortable, he was letting go.  He just nodded and turned back as Slughorn started his lesson.  He had to be more careful.

 

\--

 

He left Defense with a headache and a three-foot essay to write, half on the Inferius, how to defend oneself against them, and where they might be found while the other half had to do with the three most common spells used in defense against them.  He decidedly skipped out on dinner, and instead went straight for the library.  Despite _the order_ , his mother had specifically demanded that he keep up with his studies.

 

_“Even if none of this turns out well, you need to be well-rounded, my Draco.  When you’re married and have all your little children running around, you’ll need to be able to help them with their studies.  I expect you to do well this year, despite everything.”_

She was still hopeful that they would survive, that they would live.  He was not.

 

The first time he realized that he was uncertain was in July, before he’d been given the order.  He was sitting in his bedroom, scratching away at an essay that was due in September, when his arm suddenly burned and he frowned, pulling up his sleeve to look at the mark.  His father knocked on the door, entered without waiting, and just stared at him.  Draco continued to look down at his arm, and he would have cried had his father not been standing there.

 

“Must we?” he’d asked, not even glancing his way.

 

“We leave in five minutes.”

 

His father left briskly, and he turned his gaze back to his essay.  He wanted so badly to get lost in his studies again, to disappear from this world of hatred.  Slipping into his jacket to leave that day, he realized that he didn’t want this life, that he was in agony every second he had to put on a brave face.  And then came the order.

 

The order.  When the Dark Lord first told him, Draco was speechless.  His mother squeezed his shoulder from behind him before pulling him off.  He hadn’t spoken to his parents about it since, but it still burned in his mind.  He hated this.

 

He sighed, shook his head, and entered the library.  He passed by Madame Pince without stopping, and she barely glanced up.  He spent a lot of his time in here, an escape that was far from the confines of the Slytherin house, the Malfoy Manor, _the order_.  It made him shudder.  He wished he could escape his mind, leave it far behind him, and delve into a new life just for a minute or two, just to find some small pit of solace.

 

He slipped into an aisle near the back, quickly drew out a rather small book, and then went off to the desks in the farthest reaches of the library, ones that hardly a soul touched, ones that he always sought.  There was a couch back here, too, comfier than the ones up front because it was unused, untouched, unloved.

 

Draco dumped his bag on one of the desks, decided to ignore his essay, and instead sat in the corner of the couch, opening the golden pages.  The library had invested in Muggle classics three years ago, though he’d only discovered the joy in them last year, when Blaise almost hexed him into the aisle, demanding he read at least one.  He’d picked up one of the thinnest, glaring at his friend.  They were always joking, of course, but as soon as he started reading, he couldn’t stop.  And, after _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , he ran through the shelves, choosing by titles, by spines, and, by the end of last year, he’d read through a good quarter of the long aisle.  But he still came back to Mockingbird; it was by far his favorite, partly because it had been his first.

 

He opened it, noting with a sigh that no one had read this beside him, at least no one that took care enough to undo his dog-ears.  He turned to a random one, smiling at his handwriting.  He’d scribbled a small note, left for anyone to read, just a tiny analysis of the passage, one of his favorites.  At a second glance, however, he smiled.

 

_And I thought I was the only one who appreciated this._

Just that, right underneath his smooth handwriting.  It was delicate, a girl’s, and he touched the dried ink, his smile widening.  He tried to imagine who it was, tried to pinpoint her handwriting, but he couldn’t, and so, he turned back to the beginning and began.

 

After an hour or so of reading, he finally returned to the desks and dropped the book onto one of them.  He went into the shelves, searching for the books that would help him on his essay, and he was there for no more than a few seconds when he heard a stifled sob.  He turned, watching a head of brown curls hurry past him.  He blinked, frowning.  As he poked his head out of the aisle, he watched her go down the one he’d gotten his book from, and, when she didn’t reappear a few minutes later, he cautiously stepped out of his aisle.

 

A warning flag went off in his mind, shouting at him to stop, to turn and go back to his studies, to pretend he’d never seen her, but that same pull toward her that he’d felt earlier turned him right around the corner and into the mouth of the aisle.  She was on her knees, half-facing him, finger trailing along the titles.  He leaned against the opposite shelf, studying her.  When she finally seemed to have found what she was looking for, a hefty, gold-paged book, she tugged it out, stood up, and gave a shriek of surprise.

 

“You are in the library, you know.  You should be quieter,” he said with a small, faint smile.

 

“Oh, shove off, Malfoy,” she hissed, starting to stalk past him, but he turned quickly, walls shooting up around him, his face empty, his eyes dead.

 

“Hermione,” he whispered, and she instantly stopped, ten paces away from him.

 

He swallowed.  What was he doing?

 

“ _What_ , Malfoy?” she spat over her shoulder.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked for the second time that day, and she turned a little more, staring at him curiously.

 

“Why do you care?”

 

 _Care_.  The word rang inside of him, and he lowered his gaze.

 

“I don’t,” he muttered before disappearing into the shelves, back to his desk.


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky above the Great Hall was a stormy, light grey, and the air was wet. Hermione smiled; it was a perfect library day. Library. The word rang in her head, and her idea struck her again, and she blushed, looking down. When they sat, however, she brought her eyes back up, and there he was, pools of stone, a pale face, parted white blonde hair, and a soft, faint smile. She instantly dropped her gaze again, and Ginny was watching her.

_ii._

_I can only give you everything I’ve got_

_I can’t be as sorry as you think I should_

_October twelfth._

_1996._

 

“Hey, Gin,” Hermione greeted as she sat down next to her friend on the couch in front of the fire, “Do you have a spare moment or two?”

 

“Mhm, just one second,” she murmured, scratching away at a piece of parchment furiously.

 

Hermione waited while she finished the essay before speaking up again, “I have to tell you something rather important.  Would you mind coming upstairs?”

 

“Of course, of course, I just need to drop this stuff off in my room.”

 

Hermione was grateful, and so she waited while Ginny rolled up the parchment, tucked it in her bag, gathered her books, and they were off.  They paused so Ginny could stow everything away before going up another flight to Hermione’s room where Lavender was crying into her pillow.

 

“Ignore her,” Hermione muttered, waving at the girl and continuing over to her bed, which was farthest from the door and closest to the window, “You have to _swear_ , Ginny, that you won’t tell anyone, especially the boys.”

 

She nodded, and Hermione took a deep breath.

 

“Okay, so I went to the library last week to, uh…” she paused, cursing herself mentally for her first flaw; she couldn’t tell Ginny that she’d been crying.

 

“To study, ‘Mione?” Ginny supplied, looking like she wanted to laugh.

 

“Yes, yes, to study,” she picked up, “And I was coming out of one of the shelves, and _Draco Malfoy_ was there, just watching me.  I know, weird, right?” she said in response to Ginny’s curious look, “And I tried to go around him, but he turned around, and he said my first name, and he asked me if I was okay.”

 

“The same way he did outside of Potions?”

 

She’d forgotten that she’d told her about that.  She had meant to tell her about the library sooner, too, though she’d only just picked up the Shakespeare book and remembered this afternoon.

 

“Yea, just like that.  It was really bizarre.  And so, then I asked him why he cared, and it was like I’d insulted him or something.  He was just emotionless, all of a sudden, and he said he didn’t and just walked away.  It was so strange.”

 

“Hm,” Ginny pondered, “Maybe he fancies you?”

 

It was a second before both girls burst into hysterical laughter.  They spent the next hour relaxing by the window, basking in the cool sunlight, catching up and just chatting.  Ginny was Hermione’s best friend, and she counted on her for everything.  Granted, she loved the boys, but it was hard with them sometimes, especially because she felt uncomfortable talking to them about everything she could talk about with Ginny.

 

When they finally pulled themselves away to get dinner, it was nearing six o’clock.  They waited for the boys to come down, and they were like clockwork, exactly on the dot.  They all went together, and Hermione was just pausing to retie her stubborn shoe when someone caught her elbow.  She’d tripped in the process of stopping and bending, though the hand rebalanced her, and she looked up to thank one of the boys only to be met with steely grey eyes, void of any emotion but concern.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

She snapped away at the voice, the phrase, and she stumbled back, nearly tripping again.  Draco stared at her, recognizing her fear.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, starting to leave.

 

“No, Malfoy, wait, uh…” she trailed off, unsure of what she wanted to say.

 

He half-turned, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Thank you,” she managed, “for catching me.”

 

He just nodded, one curt movement of his head, before entering the Great Hall.  Ginny was standing just outside the doors, staring at her.  She quickly bent to tie her shoe, then hurried over.

 

“Did he just _help_ you?” Ginny hissed as they made their way to the table where the boys were already helping themselves to dinner.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on in his head.  I might try talking to him.”

 

Ginny stopped, baffled.

 

“You’re going to _talk_ … to _Draco Malfoy_?”

 

“I don’t know, Gin,” Hermione sighed, “I don’t really know what’s going on.”

 

“Just leave it alone for now.  See if anything else happens.  If not, then you’re all set, and you don’t have to worry about it.  C’mon, I’m starving.”

 

She pulled Hermione off toward the table, and the two girls quickly drowned themselves in conversation with the boys, relishing in the distraction they provided.

 

\--

 

Hermione headed down into the common room around nine that night, feeling restless.  She’d tried to go to bed an hour earlier to sleep off some of her stress, but she’d just tossed and turned for the entire hour before giving up and deciding on trying the library.  It didn’t close until ten thirty as curfew was eleven, and so she went downstairs in jeans and a jacket, much to the surprise of the boys.

 

“Where are you going so late?” Ron demanded, to which Harry glanced up.

 

“Library.  I need some comfort reading.”

 

They’d grown used to this phrase; Hermione’s comfort reading consisted of only Muggle books.  She had the Shakespeare book tucked under her arm, though her intent was not to return it.  She reached the library in good time, flashing Madame Pince a sweet smile before walking slowly through the aisles, taking her time to let the scent of old pages and tattered books waft into her nose.  She loved it here.

 

Hermione finally reached the farthest reaches of the library and went to walk straight toward her couch when a slumped figure caught her eye and she stopped.  The candles had dripped to barely anything, and the dim light made it hard for her to see.  She quickly lit them with the tip of her wand, turned, and gasped.  Draco Malfoy was fast asleep on the couch, an open book in his hand.  His legs were bent at the knee, tucked next to him, and his head rested on his upper arm.  The other hand was holding the book, though it was dangling close to the floor.  He looked _exhausted_.  Hermione hadn’t noticed it before, but his face was drawn and gaunt, as though he was extremely ill, and he was much paler than normal.  There were bags under his eyes, and he looked _too_ thin, as though he hadn’t eaten in some time.  She frowned, unsure of her next move.

 

She cleared her throat loudly, trying to startle him awake, but he didn’t stir.  After pondering a few moments, she decided to take up the other couch and read whilst keeping an eye on him.  She’d read through half of _Macbeth_ when she paused to glance at her watch: ten twenty-five.  Hermione dog-eared the book, snapped it shut, and went to leave when she remembered.  He was still sitting there, still out cold.

 

Hermione sighed.  She bit her lip, and a minute ticked by as she stared at him.  Finally, she set her book down on one of the desks and carefully went to him.  She gripped her wand with one hand and reached out with the other to shake him lightly.  He didn’t budge, and Hermione grit her teeth, shaking him harder.  This startled him, and she jumped back as his head snapped up.  His eyes were hazy and his expression confused.

 

“I’m sorry.  I wouldn’t have woken you, but the library closes in five minutes,” Hermione said quickly, taking another step back.

 

Her voice seemed to have went through him, for he looked up, blinked, and frowned.

 

“The library?” he mumbled, slowly sitting.

 

Draco groaned, his hand going to his neck.  His back cracked as he straightened, and he stretched his neck to both sides.

 

“Did I fall asleep?”

 

She’d never before seen him so open, so unaware.

 

“You were asleep when I got here, a little over an hour ago.  You really should go, though, before Madame Pince comes and yells at you.”

 

“Wait,” he managed, putting up a hand before closing his book, and Hermione caught the cover as he stashed it in his bag.

 

“That was _you_?” she gasped, hurrying over to him and reaching for the book.

 

He took it back out for her, handing it over, and she flipped to one of the dog-eared pages, turning it to him.

 

“That was you?” she repeated, and he smiled.

 

That was her.

 

“I didn’t know you liked this kind of stuff,” he said, smiling up at her.

 

“Well, I certainly didn’t know _you_ did.  Is all of it you?  There’s so many markings and dog-ears and… really?”

 

“What are you reading?”

 

“An anthology of Shakespeare.  Have you read any?”

 

“A few plays, yea, and a lot of his sonnets,” he said, putting Mockingbird back and standing, his knees cracking as he did.

 

He winced, shouldered his bag, and motioned for her to go.  They walked out together, discussing Shakespeare and Lee as they went.  Hermione barely noticed _who_ he was, barely remembered what a sin talking to him was.  She actually laughed, and she was delighted with their conversation; she’d yet to find another person so interested in the Muggle books.

 

“I can’t believe you, of all people, have read Mockingbird.  And Shakespeare!” she exclaimed, stopping at the portrait hole, “Have you read much else?”

 

“A few things here and there.  Maybe I can show you sometime, and we can compare notes?”

 

It came crashing down all around her in that single question.  He watched it happen, and he closed himself up, nodding.

 

“Never mind,” he murmured, stepping off into the shadows and disappearing down the hallway.

 

Hermione watched him go, and she’d never felt so confused in her life.

 

\--

 

_October thirteenth._

_1996._

Hermione awoke around ten, feeling refreshed and very awake.  She took a nice shower, brushed her teeth, and was just twisting her wet hair into a bun when Lavender bounced in.  The two girls exchanged a glare before Hermione swept out.

  
“Do you need the mirror still?” Lavender called, and Hermione paused.

 

“Just to do my hair.  I’ll be back in a minute, if that’s alright.”

 

“I’ll leave the door unlocked.  Just knock first.”

 

Hermione went to change into light jeans and a fitted, v-neck red sweater before going back to the bathroom.  She waited to be allowed in, and it was while she was finishing her hair that the idea came to her.  She quickly finished, slipped into her sweatshirt and Converse, and headed out and downstairs.  Ginny appeared a few minutes later, and they sat talking for a half hour before the boys trudged downstairs.  They headed to lunch, their conversation light.

 

The sky above the Great Hall was a stormy, light grey, and the air was wet.  Hermione smiled; it was a perfect library day.  Library.  The word rang in her head, and her idea struck her again, and she blushed, looking down.  When they sat, however, she brought her eyes back up, and there he was, pools of stone, a pale face, parted white blonde hair, and a soft, faint smile.  She instantly dropped her gaze again, and Ginny was watching her.

 

Ron was talking about Quidditch, _of course_ , and how excited he was for practice that day.  Hermione slipped into the conversation, grateful for a distraction from the strange feeling blooming in her, the tumbling of her stomach, the flutter of her heart; it scared her, especially because she usually associated these feelings with Ron.

 

Lunch went by without anymore interruptions, and Hermione walked back with them so that she could grab her books and her bag.

 

“You’re going to the _library_?” Ron groaned as she came back downstairs.

 

“It’s a perfect day for it.  You’re more than welcome to join me, Ronald, before practice, rather than rush through your homework tonight.”

 

He waved her away, turning to Harry, “Wanna play chess?”

 

Hermione sighed before leaving, and she made her way to the library in silence.  She was happy today, for the first time in a while, and she enjoyed the feeling.  She nodded to Madame Pince before heading straight back, and she instantly turned into the Muggle section.  She stood there, pondering over titles before smiling.  She left, her idea in full works now.  She sat at a desk, pulled out a leaf of paper, and a pen, and she started her note.

 

_This is one of my favorite epics.  You might like it.  Tolkien used a lot of these ideas, though with good reason… I had fun last night.  I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to accept your offer to meet again.  I don’t even know what compelled me to talk to you in the first place.  You confused me.  Who are you now?_

She ended it there, satisfied, before going back to the section.  She tugged out Frederick Klaeber’s edition of _Beowulf_ , slipped the note in the back, and she left it leaning out on its side.

 

Hermione spent nearly all day between the couch and the desk, writing essays, studying textbooks, wrapping herself up in Shakespeare, and a clock chimed six before she managed to pull away.  She gathered her things and made her way back to Gryffindor House.  She dropped her things upstairs, picked up Ginny, and they were halfway through dinner when Harry and Ron came in, muddy and smirking.  They listened to their tales of practice with smiles, and Hermione didn’t even notice that he never showed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then she took in a long breath, her mind tumbling. She felt a trill of excitement sitting here with him, separated from the dangers of the outside world. It terrified her to think that she was being so civil with her enemy, that she was so at ease around Draco Malfoy.

_iii._

_But I still love you more than anyone else could_

_All that I keep thinking throughout this whole fight_

_October twenty-second._

_1996._

Draco sat in Charms, the insufferable annoyance known as Pansy Parkinson, seated next to him.  He really couldn’t fathom why she was so attracted to him.  He paid her little to no attention, and he was often rude and cold toward her.  And yet, she never left.  She was always right there, by his side, ready to dote on him.  He hadn’t asked that of her since the beginning of fourth year.  After a week of humoring her, he’d become irritated and just dropped her, not giving her a second thought.  But she never left.

 

He was taking casual notes, which surprised him.  He hadn’t been one to study and such lately, but he found that he needed a distraction in most of his classes, especially with _her_ sitting so near him.  _Her_ , Hermione, someone that, before now, he’d never even given a second thought.  However, she’d captured his attention, and quite strikingly so.

 

Two thirty finally came, and Pansy gathered her things, waiting for Draco.  He glared at her until she sighed and left, and he was just stowing his notebook away when he noticed her glance back.  He saw it out of the corner of his eye, a fluttering gaze before she stood and swung her bag onto her shoulder.  He hurried to put his things away, and he jogged down the steps and took on a brisk pace until he was walking nearly alongside her.

 

“I got your note,” he said, and she smiled, “I read through it last weekend.”

 

“Did you enjoy it?”

 

“Quite.  Who’s Tolkien?”

 

She turned her eyes on him, surprised, “He wrote _Lord of the Rings_.  Try it out.  If you liked _Beowulf_ , then you’ll definitely like that.”

 

“Another epic poem?”

 

“Oh, no, it’s written in prose.  It’s a little difficult to get through, but it really is good.  The story is, at least.”

 

“I wish I could give you recommendations, but you’ve probably read that enter section.”

 

“I haven’t.  Leave something for me.  If I’ve read it, I’ll read it again.  I don’t mind.”

 

“And then we can meet?”

 

“I don’t know, Malfoy,” she stopped and frowned, “I don’t think that’s wise.”

 

He shrugged, “If you think so.”

 

And he disappeared.  Draco felt her eyes on him as he left, and he smiled.  He knew just the book for her.

 

\--

 

_October twenty-fifth._

_1996._

Draco could already feel himself falling asleep.  He’d been up too late the previous three nights, and his eyes were heavy as he read the same line over and over again.

 

_At first, when she pushed open the door and stepped in, she saw nothing at all. 1_

They began to droop, and he shook his head, pulling his legs up beside him.  He put his thumb on his page and let the book close before lifting the other hand to rub his eyes.  He sighed.  He had to stop falling asleep here.  Madame Pince had nearly given him a concussion the other night when she hit him with a book.  It was hard to wake him once he’d drifted off, and she’d given him a stern lecture that nearly got him out past curfew.  Not that it mattered, of course, he was frequently out late at night, roaming the halls when he shouldn’t be.

 

He didn’t even notice his head tilt back, his eyes slip shut, and, suddenly, he was gone.

 

Hermione found him in this manner two hours later, _The Secret Garden_ tucked under her arm.  It had been his choice, sitting on its side, with a note poking out of the back, a note she wouldn’t read until she’d gone through the whole book.  She smiled at him, his book sitting in his lap, his thumb holding his place, his cheek resting against the back of the couch, his grey eyes closed.

 

She went to sit on the other couch, flicking her wand at one of the lamps so it ignited.  He stirred as she opened the book, and she watched him carefully.  She was somewhat hidden, and so it didn’t surprise her when he turned his head, eyes opening, and he sat up, blinking.

 

He looked down at his book and sighed.  Hermione continued to watch him, concern furrowing her brow.  Lost in his own world, he let his emotions show through, a world of sorrow and hurt, of anger and disappointment.  But, as quickly as the wall had come down, it was back, and he opened the book, stared at it a few moments, and flipped back a few pages.

 

Hermione waited until he turned a page to do so, masking her noise by his, and they continued on like this for an hour before he started to doze again.  Hermione watched him in amusement, how he didn’t turn the page, how he kept reading and rereading a line until he finally closed the book on his thumb and frowned.  She looked down, smiled, and turned to the next chapter.

 

His head instantly snapped up, and his eyes bore into hers as she looked up, brown eyes wide.  She’d forgotten to wait.

 

“How long have you been here?” he demanded, anger slipping into his eyes.

 

She decided it best not to lie, “A few hours.  You were sleeping when I got here.  What are you reading?”

 

The anger disappeared from his eyes, and he flipped the cover to show her: _Atonement_.

 

“I’ve never read it,” she admitted, and she saw a flash of a Draco she’d never before witnessed.

 

His grey eyes lit up as excitement trickled into his features.  He stood, his movements fluid and soundless, and he walked over to her.  He paused, staring right at her, and he seemed to bore into her eyes, to dissect her expression, before he finally sat.  She had her legs crossed, and so he kept his feet on the floor.  She was shocked, however, when he reached toward her hands and plucked her book out of her hands.

 

“You can read that later,” he murmured when she started to protest.

 

Draco set the book down on the floor next to him before opening to the first page in _Atonement_.

 

“You’re _not_ going to read to me,” she said, staring at him incredulously.

 

“Just close your eyes.”

 

She glared at him.  _This_ was the Draco she knew.

 

“I can’t believe you,” she huffed, quickly getting off the couch, but his reaction was fast, faster than she’d expected.

 

He grabbed onto her sleeve, careful not to touch her skin, and held her there.

 

“I didn’t mean it to come off condescendingly like that.  I apologize.  Can we try again?”

 

She sat, speechless.

 

“Just… listen, okay?  I only asked you to close your eyes—okay, demanded,” he offered when she threw him a hefty glare, “—because I think it helps when someone is reading to you.”

 

She finally obliged, crossing her legs underneath her again and closing her eyes.

 

“The play—for which Briony had designed the posters, programs and tickets, constructed the sales booth out of a folding screen tipped on its side, and lined the collection box in red crêpe paper—was written by her in a two-day tempest of composition, causing her to miss a breakfast and a lunch.1”

 

“How old is she?” Hermione interrupted, and Draco sighed.

 

They exchanged a glance, and she begrudgingly shut her eyes again, waiting for him to continue, “When the preparations were complete, she had nothing to do but contemplate her finished draft and wait for the appearance of her cousins from the distant north.  There would be time for only one day of rehearsal before her brother arrived.  At some moments chilling, at others desperately sad, the play told a tale of the heart whose message, conveyed in a rhyming prologue, was that love which did not build a foundation on good sense was doomed.  The reckless passion of the heroine, Arabella, for a wicked foreign count is punished by ill fortune when she contracts—1”

 

“Honestly, how old is she?”

 

Draco stopped, sticking his thumb in the book.  He looked over at her, and her brown eyes opened to stare back at him.

 

“She’s thirteen.  It’s 1935.  Can we continue?”

 

Hermione smiled, nodding.

 

And so they continued, and, whether it be the atmosphere or the soothing tone of Draco’s voice, Hermione was lulled into a world of complete serenity.  She hadn’t experienced such happiness and easiness since her first years at Hogwarts.  The shelves around her were comforting, the books her friends, and Draco read with a tone of effortlessness and confidence; he’d read this before.

 

When he finally stopped, clearing his throat, Hermione was leaning dangerously close to him, and she opened her eyes, noticed their proximity, and shot back up into a straightened position.  She looked down at the book, and smiled.

 

“I really like it,” she said, nodding, “I really do.”

 

And then she took in a long breath, her mind tumbling.  She felt a trill of excitement sitting here with him, separated from the dangers of the outside world.  It terrified her to think that she was being so civil with her enemy, that she was so at ease around _Draco Malfoy_.  Though, in her defense, they only met on the terms of her favorite topic: literature.  She nodded, attributing her sudden kindness to him to that.

 

“Maybe,” she began slowly, and he looked hopeful, “we could do this again?”

 

He nodded, and Hermione saw a flicker of gratitude touch his features before he closed the book softly.  Draco reached over and retrieved _The Secret Garden_.

 

“Have you read this?” he asked, handing it back to her.

 

“I have, though I thoroughly enjoyed it, so it will be a pleasure reading it again.  How is Tolkien treating you?”

 

“He writes like an essayist,” Draco groaned, and Hermione laughed, nodding.

 

“That he does, at times.  Have you ever read Woolf?”

 

“Unfortunately,” he muttered darkly, “I couldn’t stand much of her.  I read _A Room of One’s Own_ ,” he added at the curious arch of her eyebrows, “It was wretched.”

 

She laughed harder, “It really is.  She’s good at essay-writing, though, if you can stand her.  Oh,” she let out softly as the clock chimed, “It’s nearly dinnertime.  Do you want to go?”

 

“I really do enjoy this, Hermione, but we do have appearances to keep up.”

 

The thought struck her, and she shook her head, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.  You won’t let me check that out, will you?” she asked, pointing to his book.

 

“Oh, no.  I’m reading it.  But, if you meet me here tomorrow at, say, eight, I can let you know what happens in chapter two.”

 

“I’d like that,” she said, standing, “I really would.  I better be off, though.  The boys will wonder where I’ve gotten to.  Draco,” she paused, frowning, “Get some rest, okay?  You can’t keep falling asleep in here.  Madame Pince will have your head.”

 

“You should have seen her the other night,” he muttered, going back over to his couch to stow his book away and gather his bag, “She took a hefty textbook to my head.”

 

“No!” Hermione gasped, staring at him in horror.

 

He just shrugged, “I guess I’m hard to wake up sometimes.  It’s nice to see you happy.”

 

“What?”

 

She nearly dropped her bag, and he shrugged again.

 

“You’ve been unhappy lately.  It’s nice to see you happy,” he repeated before nodding toward the shelves.

 

She blinked a few times before following him.  He’d been watching her?

 

They stopped at Madame Pince’s desk, and Hermione checked out two textbooks while Draco slid _Atonement_ across the counter.  She noted it without much care, smiled at the both of them, and they headed out.

 

“She seems to like you,” Hermione said as they walked.

 

“She’s starting to warm up to me.  She didn’t like me so much in my first few years here, but I’ve been quite a bit more respectful recently.”

 

“Recently being, what, a month?” she laughed.

 

“No, around the beginning of sixth year, when I first discovered that Muggle section.  The first few times, she gave me these very terrifying glares, but I held out.”

 

She smiled, watching him.  She had never seen him so refreshingly human, and she was again brought back to who he was.  Before she could pose a question, however, they had reached the Fat Lady.

 

“Tomorrow at eight?” he asked, starting to turn away from her.

 

“Tomorrow at eight,” she confirmed before he left, and she stood there, watching him walk away.

 

“He’s dangerous,” the Fat Lady murmured, and Hermione looked over at her, “But he likes you.  Be careful with that one.”

 

Hermione just shook her head before going inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.
> 
> Also, I ask that, though Atonement was published in 2001, you ignore that small fact and don’t bash me for using it. I’m trying to keep most things as close to cannon as possible and to keep the years and dates all in order, but I really wanted to use this novel. I hope that’s alright, :)


	4. iv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was not something she had ever expected. His actions were instinctual, and he thought to stop himself far too late. She was already in his arms, they’d already touched. Draco instantly backed away, and a blush she’d never seen flared in his cheeks, embarrassment flashing in his eyes before he dropped his gaze. His hands clenched into fists, and his jaw was firm, rigid.

_iv._

_Is it could take my whole dam life to make this right_

_This splintered mast I’m holding on won’t save me long_

_November eighth._

_1996._

Hermione looked down at her watch: seven thirty.  She sighed, marked her page, and closed the textbook.  Harry looked up from his scribbling; they were in the common room, seated at one of the round tables.

  
“Are you finished?” he asked, noting the empty section at the bottom of her parchment.

 

“No, but I think I’ll finish it later.”

 

This time, Ron looked up, and they both stared at her, shock evident in their features.

 

“What?”

 

“Are you going to the library?” Harry went on, eyes narrowing.

 

“Yes.  What of it?”

 

She stowed the textbook under her arm as she stood up, gathered her things, and waited for him to continue.  When he didn’t, Hermione turned away and went upstairs to dispose of her materials.  She changed out of her school clothes and into light jeans, a pastel green tank top covered by an equally pastel pink one, a striped blue and grey sweatshirt, and Converse.  She left her bag where it was and headed back downstairs, zipping her sweatshirt halfway as she did.

 

“You _changed_ to go to the library?” Ron interrupted her flow of thoughts.

 

“This is more comfortable,” she snapped back, and she would have marched on had Harry’s gaze not held her there, “What?” she sighed.

 

“Are you meeting someone?” he asked blatantly, and Ron’s eyes went wide; he’d clearly not thought of this.

 

“Is it McLaggen?” Ron exclaimed defensively.

 

“What does it matter to you?” Hermione shouted back, glaring at him.

 

“He’s a total dolt, Hermione!”

 

“You shouldn’t even care!”

 

“Oh, _why not_?”

 

“Because you’ve got _Lav Lav_ , you moron!  Go dote on her some more and stop worrying about me!”

 

Hermione stormed from the common room, and Harry sighed as she went.  Her pace was fast; she was nearly jogging.  She needed to hear Draco’s voice, to let him soothe away all her worries.  She hadn’t realized how much she looked forward to their Friday and Saturday nights until just last week.  She’d almost been late, and her heart had fluttered painfully with the anxiety that he may have left, annoyed with waiting for her.  But there he was, curled up on their couch, thumbing through _The Fellowship of the Ring_ ; he’d finished _The Hobbit_ two days prior.  He’d smiled when she’d arrived, and every stress dissipated instantly.

 

She couldn’t explain their friendship, if it even was that.  She couldn’t explain what went through her head, sitting there with _Draco Malfoy_ , reading and talking and actually enjoying his company.  The first few times, she’d attributed it to their love of similar books, but then it grew to other things.  They talked past literature and they found one another, and it was thrilling for Hermione, to think that someone so normally cold and vile could open to someone like her.  It had only been five weeks since their first encounter, but Hermione felt like she’d discovered an entirely different person beneath the layers of _Malfoy_ ; she’d discovered _Draco_.

 

“I was wondering when you’d get here.”

 

His voice immediately calmed her, but it also released her tears, her pent-up anger.

 

“Woah,” he commented, dropping his book and leaping out of his seat.

 

He pulled her against him, and Hermione froze.

 

This was not something she had ever expected.  His actions were instinctual, and he thought to stop himself far too late.  She was already in his arms, they’d already touched.  Draco instantly backed away, and a blush she’d never seen flared in his cheeks, embarrassment flashing in his eyes before he dropped his gaze.  His hands clenched into fists, and his jaw was firm, rigid.  They stood there for a moment before Hermione opened her mouth.  Draco shook his head once and was gone.  She was dumbfounded, and a whole minute ticked by before she could move, turning to face where he’d headed.  He wasn’t there, and this hurt her more than it should have.

 

She went to their couch, blinking in confusion.  He’d hugged her, a movement of comfort, and she’d stiffened immediately, afraid.  In the five weeks they’d met, they never once had touched, other than the brief second he held onto her sleeve before he began the very first chapter of _Atonement_.  It was still lying there, as was his bag and his cloak.  She took the book in her hands, and she smiled.  It was delicate, well worn, and she understood now why he handled it with such care.

 

She opened it, curious to see what he did.  She loved the book, loved when he read it to her, and she always wanted more.  She turned to a page at random, searched back a few pages for the chapter heading: seven.  She read.

 

_The island temple, built in the style of Nicholas Revett in the late 1780s, was intended as a point of interest, an eye-catching feature to enhance the pastoral ideal, and had of course no religious purpose at all.  It was near enough to the water’s edge, raised upon a projecting bank, to cast an interesting reflection in the lake, and from most perspectives the row of pillars and the pediment above them were_ 1

She stopped.

 

She didn’t know this line.  She recognized the first line instantly, and so she flipped to the previous chapter.

 

_Not long after lunch, once she was assured that her sister’s children and Briony had eaten sensibly and would keep their promise to stay away from the pool for at least two hours, Emily Tallis had withdrawn from the white glare of the afternoon’s heat to a cool and darkened bedroom.  She was not in pain, not yet, but she was retreating before its threat._ 1

Again, she felt lost.  This feeling of frustration and loss upset her and she threw the book from her touch, casting it away to the other side of the couch.  She didn’t know why she was here, why she felt so drawn to one Draco Malfoy.  It confused her, more than Ron’s mixed signals did.  She couldn’t understand her feelings for Draco, couldn’t even begin to comprehend them.  They angered her for being there, and they frustrated her for being unreadable.  It was Malfoy, though.  She wasn’t supposed to feel anything but disgust and contempt for him.

 

Minutes ticked by as she sat there, mulling over her own thoughts, before she glanced back over at the book, and she couldn’t control herself.  She fell to her side, curled her knees into her chest, and she cried.  She cried for Ron, for Draco, for Harry.  She cried because she was sick of being angry and stressed out, she was infuriated by her feelings for all three boys, for how much she pined for Ron, for how confused she was about Draco, for how worried she was for Harry.  She hated all of this.

 

And so Hermione let herself drift away into a fitful sleep, something she’d never done in the library before.

 

Draco found her an hour and a half later.  He didn’t want to return, but he’d left all of his things, and his only hope was that she wasn’t there anymore.  He sighed when he turned the corner and she was lying on the couch, eyes closed.  He’d never seen her sleep before, though he was sure she usually looked more peaceful than this.  Worry lines creased her features, and she looked like she was in such distress.

 

Sighing again, he squatted in front of her and reached a hand forward, brushing her brown curls away from her face.  He whispered her name softly, caressing her cheek.  She stirred at the touch, and he stayed where he was as her eyes fluttered open.  She didn’t react, just stared at him, brown eyes a world away.

 

“Why?” she asked, and he didn’t know which question to answer first.

 

He frowned, and she looked away before pulling herself up and sitting.

 

“Why did you leave?”  He hadn’t expected this question first.

 

“It was wrong.  I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“I—” she cut herself off.  What was she supposed to say?

 

She sat there, and he stood there, tense and silent, as seconds ticked by, and finally, Hermione felt as though she might explode.

 

“I wish you hadn’t.”

 

He sat at this, and they were like two awkward teenagers, fumbling and unsure.

 

“It was an instinct.  I’m sorry.”

 

Hermione chose her words carefully, “I really would have enjoyed it, had I not been so shocked.”

 

“Am I allowed to do it in the future, then?  I just hate seeing you upset,” he finished in a mumble.

 

“When did you decide to be nice to me?”  It was a sharp question, one that had been burning in her.

 

“I don’t know,” he sighed, “I really don’t.  It just happened.”

 

“And how do I know you won’t just turn around and hate me again?”

 

“Hermione,” he said, softly, and she gasped as his hand touched hers.

 

His skin was soft and cool, and his touch set her insides on fire; she never wanted him to let go.

 

“I could never, not after all of this.”

 

Hermione nodded before reaching across him and retrieving the book.  He smiled, lifting it from her fingers.

 

“The library closes in a half hour.  We should go.  We can read tomorrow.  Please no more tears,” he whispered, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

 

Her heart was racing faster than she’d ever imagined it could, and she felt like it would jump right out of her chest.

 

“Come on,” he said, releasing her and collecting his things.

 

He pulled on a grey sweatshirt over his black t-shirt.

 

“You look different,” Hermione smiled, noting his jeans and Converse.

 

“I can be myself with you.”

 

Her smile widened, and they left together, Madame Pince not even looking up; she’d become accustomed to seeing them disappear and reappear together, and so she never questioned them on it.  They walked slowly and silently, and a question seemed to hang in the air between them.  When they finally reached the Fat Lady, Draco sighed and stopped a few feet away from the portrait.  Hermione turned, arching an eyebrow.

 

“I hate that we didn’t get to spend time together tonight,” he said softly, and she stepped closer to him.

 

“Tomorrow,” she promised, and he looked down.

 

“If I’m late,” he began slowly, and her brow furrowed.

 

He didn’t want to tell her, he _couldn’t_ tell her, but he had to warn her.

 

“If I’m late, Hermione, even a minute, leave.  I’ll say no more,” he added when she opened her mouth, “Go.  I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully.”

 

And he turned his back, walking briskly away.

 

\--

 

Ginny almost _attacked_ Hermione as soon as she walked through the portrait hole.  Hermione gave a small shriek, ducking as Ginny sprinted over to her and grabbed her arm.

 

“Ginny!” she exclaimed as her friend dragged her away, “What the hell?”

 

“I can’t even believe you,” she hissed angrily, marching up the girls’ stairs as the boys stared on, “I should have known.  I just… _God_ , Hermione.”

 

They continued to storm up all the way to the sixth floor.  She nearly _shoved_ Hermione into her room, fuming and muttering incomprehensibly.  Hermione stumbled in as Ginny slammed the door and spun to face her.  She’d never seen her friend so angry, so infuriated before.  Ginny shook her head, her fiery red hair, for once, matching her terrifying fury.  She stormed by her, not touching her, and she turned into the bathroom, where one of Hermione’s roommates was fixing her eyebrows.

 

“I’m really sorry to seem like a bitch, but could you please excuse us for a little bit?”

 

The girl took one look at Ginny’s wild eyes, nodded, and quickly left.  Ginny came back, locked the door, silenced the room, and just stood there.  Hermione didn’t know how to respond, didn’t even know what was wrong.

 

“Ginny—” she tried, and that set her off.

 

“ _Draco Malfoy_ , Hermione?” she yelled so loud it sounded painful.

 

Hermione winced.

 

“Of all the slimy, vile, arrogant, selfish, _awful_ gits, Hermione, _him_?  Were you not _listening_ second year when he called you a _Mudblood_ or every other time he did?  Were you _dreaming_ when you slapped him third year?  Have you not _despised_ him for the past six years and for _very good reason_?  And what about Harry?” her voice, if possible, went up in volume, and her wand emitted violent sparks as she clenched her fists tighter, “He has _tormented_ him at every turn!  Harry is your _best friend_!  And _Ron_ , Hermione!  You know he loves you, even though he’s too goddamn thick to admit it!  I don’t even understand _why_!  And how could I not notice it?  Disappearing every Friday and Saturday night, all gussied up, with _no_ study materials, _no_ books, and coming back smiling and _so_ happy!  Are you _fucking_ him?  Is that why you never mentioned another run-in with him?  Because you were _enjoying_ it?  With _Malfoy_?”

 

Here her voice broke, and she stopped, chest heaving.  Hermione could barely breathe.  How did she know?  Who else had seen?

 

“When?” she finally managed.

 

“When _what_?” Ginny seethed.

 

“When did you see?”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

Hermione’s knees gave out.  She collapsed, and her vision went black.  She felt cold, like she was freezing from the inside out, like her blood was running still and her heart was slowly stuttering, slowly stopping, dead.  She’d admitted it.

 

A _dmitted what?  You haven’t done anything wrong_ , a voice snapped inside of her, _You’re discussing literature with him.  It’s harmless.  It’s not like you feel for him, not like you want him._

“Hermione!” Ginny shouted, but her voice was foggy, distant.

 

_It’s just books.  It’s just the library.  You always lose yourself in there._

Hermione tried to swallow, but her tongue was thick.  She tried to suck in a breath, but there was no oxygen.  She felt trapped.  Ginny was shaking her, trying to pull her back up.  She felt like she was drowning.  This wasn’t her.  She was strong.  She wasn’t supposed to fall apart like this.  This had to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.
> 
> Also, on a side note, wow. Ginny likes to emphasize things. Apologies if those italics just killed you. They kind of made me want to bash my head on the keyboard.


	5. v.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt like an eternity, sitting there with her unwavering gaze on him, and then she remembered to breathe, and she hurriedly bent to retrieve the book, blushing as everyone finally looked away. He leaned forward as she was straightening, and she moved slowly, almost stopping entirely when his lips ghosted her jaw, just under her ear, and his voice tickled her skin.

_v._

_Because I know fine well that what I did was wrong_

_The last girl and the last reason to make this last for as long as I could_

_November twentieth._

_1996._

Draco moved soundlessly.

 

It was early, early enough that the moon was only just dying, that the sun hadn’t graced the skies just yet, early enough that his roommates weren’t awake yet, that his constant, living fear hadn’t awoken in him yet.  He stared at his face in the mirror as he buttoned his white-collared shirt, stared at his steely grey eyes, empty, stared at his pale skin, almost luminous in the dim light, stared at the angles of his face, how sharp and jagged they’d become with each passing day, stared as the agony and destruction started to slip into his features, slight enough that only he could notice them, that only _she_ also saw.  He shook his head.  No.  He wouldn’t take that route, not now.  He couldn’t.

 

He slipped his tie on, knotted it, his vest following, and he went back into the room, gathered his cloak, his bag, his books, and he left, shoes making no noise as he walked gracefully across the floor.  He descended into the common room, and one swift glance told him no one was there.  He slipped out, into the silent halls of the castle; he wasn’t hungry, and it was so early the kitchen wouldn’t even be open yet.  Nor would the library, but that was still his destination.

 

Draco reached it before the half hour, unlocked the doors with a silent flick of his wand, locked them again once inside, and ghosted through, a silent man, physically present, but barely there.  He went into _their_ section, noticed the book he’d leaned out nearly two weeks ago was still there, noticed it was the only one in such a state.  He stared at it, his face blank, before turning away from the aisle and going back to _their_ couch.  He sat, stiffly, pulled out _The Two Towers_ , and began his morning reading.  He’d come here every morning since her disappearance, and he’d diligently gone through the series she’d claimed he’d like, which he did.

 

Almost two weeks, and the only sight of her was in class, where she made a point to never look at him, to never acknowledge his presence, to remain attached to Harry’s side, to never be caught alone.  She was avoiding him, and she was very successful at it.  He couldn’t understand why.

 

He’d been late the Saturday he thought he might, after a particularly rude conversation with one Severus Snape followed by a run-in with a horny and lustful Pansy.  He’d shaken her off easily, but keeping up a cool demeanor around the professor proved difficult.  He went to the library immediately after to make sure she wasn’t there, though the fact that she wasn’t hurt him, for reasons he couldn’t understand.  As soon as he left, only a few minutes later, Snape wrenched him around the corner by the arm, backing him into the wall.

 

“Whoever it is, drop her,” he’d said angrily, and this is why he’d told Hermione to stay away; he couldn’t let her see this, couldn’t let Snape unleash his wrath on her, “You have more important matters to focus on, Draco.  Find your head, and _do not let her invade it again_.”

 

For the fourth time that week, he found himself looking away from his book, pondering her disappearance.  He knew he thought too much of her, about her, but she fascinated him.  There was something about her that attracted him, that hurt him when she was away.  He didn’t know it entirely, yet, but he knew the sense of falling, understood just how powerful something like love was.

 

He sighed, snapping his book shut.  The library would be opening in an hour.  He’d been here too long already.  It was already seven, and students would be awake by now.  He left silently, a ghost that had never truly graced the looming shelves, and he stared at his breakfast, too distracted to eat.  He saw her come in, Ginny in tow, Ron sulking behind them with Harry shaking his head at him.  He didn’t look up, but he could feel her.  His spine tingled and straightened when she walked in, and his head felt cloudy.  She had gotten to him, an emotion so deep he’d nearly numbed it, an emotion only his mother could evoke, and she’d touched it, she’d awoken it.

 

To say he loved Slughorn that morning in Potions was a bit extreme, though he was quite sure it was close.  For, when the rotund professor waddled into the room and sat himself at his desk, he looked straight at Draco, then at Hermione, and smiled.  Draco stiffened, arching an eyebrow, and he forced himself to keep his composure empty and cold as Slughorn spoke.

 

“Class, we’re going to try something a little different today.  I’m going to be putting you with partners that you’ll be working with for the next three weeks, partners that you normally would never speak to,” here he paused to look at Hermione again, and Draco watched her figure go rigid, “I’d like to test the waters, see how well you can manage under the pressure of working alongside someone you don’t particularly like, see how well you can still brew.  Now, please wait until I’ve finished assigning you, and then you may move.”

 

Harry and Ron looked helplessly at one another, but Hermione was still, too still.

 

“Potter and Zabini, Brown and Vane, Longbottom and Parkinson,” he continued on in this manner until, suddenly, “Malfoy and Granger.”

 

It struck both of them at the same time, though neither reacted.  When Slughorn waved his arms about to signal they should move, Hermione quietly gathered her things, whispered something to the boys, and took her leave from the table.  Blaise and Pansy left the table as Hermione set her things down and sat.  He waited as everyone finished finding their new seats and for Slughorn to give them the assignment before Draco turned to Hermione.

 

“Don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head before opening her book.

 

The only words exchanged between them for the remainder of the class were regarding the potion, and Draco had never before felt like he’d been so deeply cut.  His very person ached for her, a feeling he had never encountered, and one that terrified him.  He didn’t need her, but he wanted her, with all of his being.  How she had had such an effect on him was beyond his knowledge; all he knew was that being in such close proximity after so long was wearing on him.  He didn’t know how he’d survive the next three weeks in painful silence.

 

\--

 

_November twenty-ninth._

_1996._

Draco was early for class that morning by at least a half hour.  He read _The Return of the King_ in this time, having finished _The Two Towers_ the night before.  He hardly noticed students trickling in as he balanced the book on his raised knee, its foot on one of the levels of the stool, and his chin resting in his hand, his eyes flicking through the sentences and paragraphs quickly.  He almost didn’t hear the thud of Hermione’s bag, and he certainly took care not to look up as she sat down.  When Slughorn entered, he dog-eared the page, closed the book, and reached for his bag so he could put it away.

 

“You’re already on the third one?”

 

Her words cut through him like fire, and he froze, heart pounding in his chest.  She didn’t even seem to realize her mistake, for her fingers brushed his as she reached for the book, and he let his hand fall to the table, gripping it tightly.  He was sure he would fall.  The book slipped out of his numb fingers as Hermione leafed through it until she found his mark.

 

“When did you finish Fellowship?”

 

Then she noticed his state, which he was quickly composing, and she dropped the book, entirely unintentionally but the loud _thunk_ it made as it hit the stone floor made Slughorn look up and a few students look back.  Draco straightened, looking her directly in the eyes.

 

“Why?” he whispered, and she just stared back, not breathing.

 

It felt like an eternity, sitting there with her unwavering gaze on him, and then she remembered to breathe, and she hurriedly bent to retrieve the book, blushing as everyone finally looked away.  He leaned forward as she was straightening, and she moved slowly, almost stopping entirely when his lips ghosted her jaw, just under her ear, and his voice tickled her skin.

 

“Tonight.  Please.”

 

And they said nothing else for the remainder of class.

 

Draco was decidedly late, by three minutes exactly.  He knew five was asking too much of her, and that she would leave by then, but three, three would mean she was just getting frustrated, just starting to leave.  And, as he made his way back, three minutes late, he glanced down their section, and he came to a careening halt.  His leaned book was gone, and another, three shelves up and farther in, was leaned down.  He smiled, quickly went down the aisle to retrieve the book, and then hurried back just as she was leaving.

 

“Hermione,” he breathed, slipping in front of her, and she shoved his chest, pushing right past him.

 

“I knew I shouldn’t have come,” she muttered, and he reacted swiftly, the book tumbling out of his hand as he spun, bag slipping off his shoulder as he caught her wrist.

 

She almost slid right out of his grasp, but he tightened it, pulling her to a stop.  She turned to face him, to shove him away, to turn her furious glare upon him, but he dropped her wrist as she moved, brought his hands to her face, cupping her jaw, and went to kiss her when she stomped on his foot, and he blanched back, stumbling.  He crashed into the couch as she released his foot, and he tumbled over, falling onto his side and catching himself with his hands.

 

“ _Why_?” she screeched, “Because I had to!”

 

She stared down at him, offensive curls in her face, tears glistening in her eyes, all color gone from her skin, and he hated himself.  He had done this.  He could already hear Madame Pince’s angry footfalls approaching them, and it was this noise that brought Hermione crashing back to reality, to where they were.

 

“Madame Pince,” she said as soon as the librarian rounded the corner, “Oh my God,” she gasped, “I’m so sorry.  I hadn’t even realized—I—I can’t even believe I just did that.  I’m so, so, _so_ sorry,” she cried, her tears falling.

 

The librarian took one look at the ache in Hermione’s face, Draco sprawled on the floor, and she turned right around.  She understood.

 

Draco picked himself up, didn’t even bother to brush away the dust that had caught on his uniform, and he enveloped Hermione in his arms, where she cried into his chest.  Her sobs wracked through her painfully, and he trembled with the force of them, with the knowledge of the hurt he had caused her.

 

“It’s—it’s not y-y-your fault,” she managed to stammer out, hitting him on the chest softly with her fist, “I just c-c-couldn’t, Dra-Draco.  I was falling—falling apart,” she hiccupped, “I c-c-can’t rope you into this.  You don’t d-d-deserve this.  I’m so—so—Merlin, I’m so sorry, Draco.”

 

This confused him, but he just held her tighter, hiding his face in her curls and pressing his hands into her back, and she let go in his embrace, relinquished all the pent-up anger and stress and sorrow in her tears.  She let him see her at her weakest, and he kept her close, not whispering any false comforts, not even speaking, he just held her, showed her he was there, that he wouldn’t leave.  And she believed him.

 

They found themselves, ten minutes later, sitting on the couch.  Though this, this was different.  Draco’s back was leaned into the arm of the couch while his arm and leg were lifted onto one side of Hermione.  They’d doused all the lamps except the one closest to them, and she was hidden away in the confines of him, laid out between his legs and curled up against his torso.  Her head rested on his left shoulder, and he held his book with his right hand, reading softly to her, soothing both of them in the only way they knew how.

 

“Nothing palled.  Now and then, an inch below the water’s surface, the muscles of his stomach tightened involuntarily as he recalled another detail.  A drop of water on her upper arm.  Wet.  An embroidered flower, a simple daisy, sewn between the cups of her bra.  Her breasts wide apart and small.  On her back, a mole half covered by a strap.1”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.


	6. vi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stayed like that for a little while until the clock chimed half past, and Hermione slowly got up, pausing to look Draco in the eyes. She saw something there, a flicker of happiness before he noticed she was watching and he shut himself off, his grey pools becoming evasive and stony again.

_vi._

_First kiss and the fire time that I felt connected to anything_

_The weight of water, the way you told me to look past everything I had ever learned_

_December fourteenth._

_1996._

“No one answered her.  Leon was already making his way up the incline at such a pace it was an effort to keep up with him.  Even so, before they reached the driveway, before he had the chance to set Lola down, Briony was beginning to tell him what had happened, exactly as she had seen it.1” Draco stopped, smiling down at Hermione as she let her eyes open and stared up at him.

 

“Is that it?  But, what is she going to say?  She can’t tell them it’s Robbie!” she exclaimed, scrambling upward, and he laughed openly as she flipped almost unsuccessfully, leaning against him with her hands on his chest, “No!” she continued, beating him once with her fist, and he just laughed harder, “But it wasn’t him, and she can’t say it was!  No, she’s just jealous because she thinks she loves Robbie, but she’s only thirteen.  God, what a bitch,” she finished in a mumble, and Draco howled with laughter, dropping the book to his side and letting his head fall back.

 

Hermione instantly stopped, watching him.  She’d never before seen him so amused, so happy.

 

“You’re going to get us kicked out again,” she scoffed, hitting him again.

 

“We didn’t get kicked out,” he said, stifling his laughter, “We just so happened to finish the chapter the same time Madame Pince was storming back to politely ask us to leave.”

 

“You were causing such a ruckus,” she sighed, sinking back into him.

 

“It was quite a scene,” he reminded, letting his hand drift over her soft curls, playing occasionally with one, wrapping it around his finger until he lost feeling then letting it bounce back and tumble over her back.

 

They stayed like that for a little while until the clock chimed half past, and Hermione slowly got up, pausing to look Draco in the eyes.  She saw something there, a flicker of happiness before he noticed she was watching and he shut himself off, his grey pools becoming evasive and stony again.  She sighed, pushed herself all the way up, and pulled on her cloak as he tucked away _Atonement_ , shouldered his bag, and shocked Hermione by slipping his arms around her from behind.  He rested his cheek on her shoulder, his nose and chin turned into the crook of her neck, and he laced his fingers at the waist of her jeans.  He let out a long breath, eyes closing, and she leaned back into him, carefully placing her hands over his.

 

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispered, his breath tickling her skin.

 

He was warm, something that was unusual, though she knew it was from being in such close contact with her for so long.  They heard Madame Pince clear her throat, a noise she made every night now after stumbling upon them half-asleep one evening, wrapped in each other’s arms.  They quickly separated, and hurried off, knowing she’d turn the corner in a second.  It had become a silent agreement between the three that she wouldn’t speak of them if they remained quiet and didn’t take advantage of her, which, of course, they happily did.

 

Their pace was much slower than normal as they made their way toward Gryffindor House, and Hermione desperately searched her mind for somewhere they could go, somewhere they could be together.  Something was pulling her toward him, something that made her step closer and want to be in his arms again right that very second.

 

She smiled as she felt his hand brush against hers, once, twice, and then his fingers slipped between hers, interlacing softly and bashfully.  A faint smile graced his features, but he kept his eyes ahead.  He squeezed her hand, she squeezed back, and he took a left instead of continuing going right.  She didn’t say a word, just followed him through the halls, and she recognized the route before long, having travelled it countless times only last year.  She smiled.

 

“Is this okay?” he whispered, and she just nodded.

 

She waited for him to walk three times across the wall, and a small door appeared.  He took her hand and led her inside, and she stared around in amazement.  She’d never seen the Room of Requirements look quite like this; it was crammed full with all sorts of trinkets and gizmos and things she couldn’t even begin to explain.  It was an organized clutter, though, and she enjoyed it.

 

Draco knew his way around, and Hermione stared at him, trying to fathom why he would come here.  He never answered her curious gaze.  They passed by a tall, black wooden object that he glanced at for only a fraction of a second, and his pace quickened so fast, Hermione barely saw it.  She shrugged, and followed him a little longer through the maze until they reached an elegant, comfortable-looking couch that he held out his hand to.  She smiled widely, going to it, and she sat, arching an eyebrow at him.  Returning the happy expression, he followed her, extended his legs behind her and got situated before staring at her.  She instantly fell into his embrace and, there, they spent the night.

 

\--

 

Hermione awoke to the smell of handsome cologne and the feel of soft cotton.  She hummed, a small, content noise, as she turned her nose into the cotton, into the familiar smell.  She breathed it in, breathed _him_ in, and she flexed her fingers, one of them coming in contact with another hand, fingers intertwined with her own.  This opened her eyes.

 

She looked around her, blinking, she looked down at the hand attached to her own, to the arm curled around her, to the dangerously attractive man lying behind her.  He was still fast asleep, but she pushed herself up regardless, and she smiled at the memory of last night, of lying together and whispering until they’d fallen asleep.  She looked back down at him, and she watched him awhile, memorized the rise and fall of his chest, listened to the slow and steady rhythm of his breath, traced his angles with her eyes, and, eventually, she lay back on her side, facing him this time.  She reached up a delicate finger and carefully pushed a few strands of white blonde hair from his forehead, instantly shocked at how soft it was.  She’d always imagined his hair as rough and slick, but this was like down, like clouds.

 

Hermione sighed, tracing her fingers to the nape of his neck where his hair was feather soft.  Draco smiled in his sleep, and Hermione instantly brightened at this.  She stroked the soft area for a few moments before tracing her fingers over his smooth face, noting how baby soft his skin was.  She let her fingers travel down around his neck, and she was busy turning small circles in the hollow at the base of his neck when she felt him swallow, and she looked up, smiling.  Warm grey eyes stared back at her, warmer than she’d ever seen them.  She looked down at his mouth, wanting to see a smile, however small.  It was there, just a tiny lift of the corners of his mouth, and she knew it was for her.

 

“What time is it?’ she asked, and he cleared his throat before lifting his wrist.

 

“Eight fifty-six.  We should probably leave.  Your friends will be wondering where you were all night.”

 

Her eyes went wide at this, and he smirked.

 

“Don’t worry.  I’ll think up a lie for you.”

 

However, when Hermione reached the common room, after confirming from a quick glance that they weren’t in the Great Hall, it was to find it empty.  She hurried upstairs, rapped her knuckles on Ginny’s door, but there was no answer, and, confused, she stood there a moment until a distant eruption of noise caught her attention.

 

“The Quidditch match,” she sighed before going back down the stairs.

 

She hurried out of the common room, burst through the portrait hole, and ran to the railing, looking down; Draco was a flight below her.

 

“Draco!” she hissed loudly, and he stopped, looking up.

 

He arched an eyebrow, and she waited as another roar from the crowd caused him to nod.  He stepped out of the middle of the staircase, and she hurried down to meet him.  They walked together, fingers wrapped around one another.  The castle was empty, silent save for the match going on outside.  They ate breakfast together, saved from peering eyes and disbelieving stares.  And, when they finally finished and were heading back to their respective houses, the match was just letting out.  The boys and Ginny found Hermione before long in the common room, and they were so excited from the game that they entirely forgot to ask her where she’d been and instead filled her in on the apparently thrilling win by Hufflepuff against Slytherin.

 

\--

 

_December twentieth._

_1996._

Hermione sighed, going back out into her room.

 

“Would you mind zipping me?” she asked of Ginny, and her friend finished pulling back her red curls in a clip before going to help her.

 

Hermione was dressed in a salmon pink dress that fell to just her knees and dipped in a wide v-neck with straps on both shoulders.  When Ginny got the dress zipped, Hermione went back into the bathroom to clip on her necklace and clip a strand of her hair back.  Her curls fell over her shoulders, and she wore just a small amount of mascara and eyeliner.

 

“Are you excited?” Ginny asked from the doorway.

 

“I’m going with Cormac, remember?  I’ll be hiding from him the entire night,” she sighed, “What about you?  It’ll be nice to see Harry looking all dressed up, I’m sure.”

 

“Harry,” she scoffed, “Harry doesn’t even give me a second glance anymore.”

 

Hermione frowned.  She wished she could disagree with the redhead, but she knew she was right.  Harry had been trying to distance himself just in case, and he was also so preoccupied with everything Dumbledore had him doing that it was hard to pay attention to anything but putting one foot in front of the other.

 

“You know it can’t be helped,” she frowned, “You know he would steal you away in a second if he could.”

 

“I know.  It just sucks.  Okay, enough pitying, we have to go or we’re going to be late.”

 

“Alright, I’m coming.”

 

The girls waited in the common room for their dates, to which Hermione begrudgingly allowed Cormac to take her arm while they walked.  He chattered the whole way there, and she didn’t listen to a word; she barely even concerned herself with looking interested or nodding.  And Ginny noticed, frowning.

 

It was halfway through the party before the great interruption came, and Ginny was the only one who saw the shift, as she’d refer to it later.  She laughed as Hermione skirted out of the curtains where she’d been hiding with Harry from Cormac, and she was about to call her friend over when Harry slipped out of the curtains and someone shoved past her, struggling out of Filch’s grip.  She watched as Draco Malfoy finally gave up, turning his gaze to the floor as Filch announced he’d found him lurking in the hallways.

 

Ginny turned her gaze to Hermione on pure coincident, though her eyes widened immediately.  Hermione was staring at Draco, and her hands were knotted together in front of her, though there was a lean in her body that yearned to be closer to him.  She quickly looked back at Draco, watching as he glanced up, just barely, and the softest of smiles touched his lips before it disappeared and he turned to look at Professor Snape.

 

They exchanged something that Ginny couldn’t hear because Hermione had taken one step closer, and she heard Draco almost stutter, a very uncharacteristic movement.  And then Draco turned, and he snuck one last glance over his shoulder as he went, and Hermione looked down, blushing and grinning widely.

 

Ginny stared at her in horror, and, when Hermione looked up and caught her gaze, her blush faded instantly and her eyes widened.  She had been found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.


	7. vii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hated that, though he also liked it in an affectionate way. She liked to fiddle with his ears sometimes, to touch the dip behind them and to rub his lobe in between her thumb and forefinger. She loved everything, the curve of his shoulders, the dips of his neck, the softness of his skin, the—

_vii._

_The final word in the final sentence you ever uttered to me was love_

Ginny finally cornered Hermione as they were leaving the party, and she held tightly onto her friend’s arm, steering her away from everyone else and down the hallway.

 

“I’ll only ask once,” she said, staring straight at Hermione, “Is he worth losing everything?”

 

Hermione blinked.  She didn’t even think twice before nodding.  Ginny reciprocated the movement before releasing her.

 

“I don’t want to know.  I don’t even want to hear _anything_ , okay?  I just wanted to make sure you had a clear head.  Are you going to him now?”

 

“I am,” she answered, and Ginny just frowned.

 

“Be careful, Hermione.  This is a very dangerous game you’re playing.”

 

Hermione nodded again.  She understood where Ginny was coming from, and she wasn’t about to jeopardize Harry or the secrets she knew.

 

“Ginny,” she started very calmly, “We have an agreement.  He doesn’t ask about the boys, and I don’t ask about Voldemort.  Neither of us want to know, and neither of us want to tell.  I promise.  He’s safe.”

 

“Okay.  I’ll see you tomorrow before we leave.”

 

And Ginny left, worry coursing through her.  Nothing told her this was a good idea.

 

\--

 

“Five minutes later, when she reentered the drawing room in triumph, no one paid her any attention, and everything was exactly the same—tired, miserable adults sipping tea and smoking in silence.  In her excitement she had not considered who it was she should give the letter to; a trick of her imagination had everyone reading it at once.1”

 

“No!” Hermione gasped, pulling on his ear.

 

Draco winced but looked up at her anyway.

 

“Yes,” he responded, smirking devilishly.

 

“That’s horrible.  Keep going.”

 

He laughed softly before continuing, “She decided Leon should have it.  She crossed the room toward her brother, but when she arrived in front of the three men she changed her mind and put the folded sheet of paper into the hands of the policeman with a face of granite.  If he had an expression, it did not change as he took the letter nor when he read it, which he did at great speed, almost at a glance.  His eyes met hers, then shifted to take in Cecilia who was facing away.  With the slightest movement of his wrist he indicated that the other policeman should take the letter.1”

 

“The horrible little bitch,” she grumbled, and Draco laughed louder, leaning into Hermione’s arm affectionately.

 

They’d decidedly switched positions tonight after constant grumbles about his arm becoming sore from staying up for so long, and so Draco was leaning against Hermione, though she didn’t mind this change for it gave her a chance to play with his hair, to fascinate herself with the ever-soft texture of the white blonde locks, and she knew he loved the way her fingers trailed through and tugged down the curve of his skull before tickling the nape of his neck.  He frequently smiled when she did this, and she loved watching him show his happiness.

 

“Shall I continue?”

 

“Of course, of course,” she murmured, giving his ear another little tug.

 

He hated that, though he also liked it in an affectionate way.  She liked to fiddle with his ears sometimes, to touch the dip behind them and to rub his lobe in between her thumb and forefinger.  She loved everything, the curve of his shoulders, the dips of his neck, the softness of his skin, the—

 

“You aren’t listening again,” he sighed, interrupting her thoughts.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly and quietly, “You just distract me.”

 

“We’re never going to get through this chapter.”

 

“How much longer is it?”

 

He thumbed through the pages, “Six and a half pages.  Think you can concentrate for that long.”

 

“I _suppose_.”

 

He just laughed before going on, and, this time, she leaned her head against the couch, closed her eyes, and let the timbre of his voice, his soothing tone, the delicate words dance through her, let herself swim in everything that was fast becoming her favorite book.

 

\--

 

_January fifth._

_1997._

Draco took in a long breath before slowly sitting across from Pansy.  She smiled pleasantly at him; she’d been getting better at leaving him alone, and so, he returned the smile, just a small, fleeting expression, but it made her happy, and that was all that mattered.  He just had to keep up appearances.

 

The train ride passed uneventfully for the most part.  The only excitement he encountered was when he stood for a walk, in desperate need to stretch his sore limbs.  He’d undergone severe “training” as his fellow Death Eaters called it and “torture” as his mother grumbled.  He could barely walk, but he needed to; he’d be cemented to his seat if he remained there any longer.

 

He kept a leisurely pace, and he focused on contorting his features so that he looked lucid and indifferent, though he found it difficult before long when he heard a familiar voice.

 

“Guys, I just need some air.  I’m gonna go for a little walk, okay?”

 

And he watched her walk right out of the compartment, brown curls tossing around her shoulders as she looked to her left and to her right.  She barely paused, but she caught his eye, and she walked away briskly at first, slowing when she’d gone far enough from the compartment.  He slipped by unnoticed by Harry and Ron, and he followed her at a safe distance, waiting until she ducked inside another compartment.  He took his time, stopping once or twice to look out the windows before finally entering, and she ambushed him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

 

He tensed, agony pulsing through him as she squeezed him.  He couldn’t respond, he couldn’t even pat her back.  His arms were limp by his sides, and his heart pounded in his chest.

 

“Draco, what’s wrong?” she whispered, pulling away and quickly tugging down the shade.

 

She silenced the room and locked the door before turning her worried gaze to him.  He motioned to the seat, and she quickly sat down.  He took the one opposite her, wincing.

 

“You’re hurt,” she acknowledged, and he nodded, trying to slow his breathing.

 

Hermione frowned before getting up and going to open the window.  She then pushed on his shoulders lightly, forcing him to lie down, and he did gratefully, closing his eyes and taking one of her hands.

 

“What did they do to you?”

 

“I don’t even want to tell you,” he whispered, his voice frail, “Everything hurts, though.”

 

He pushed himself up on one elbow, though, when he felt something wet hit his hand.  She hurriedly turned away, wiping her eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, going to sit again, “You don’t have to talk about it.  I’m just glad you’re here, that you’re alive.”

 

“I’m surprised I am,” he laughed humorlessly, a short, hollow laugh.

 

They spent a few minutes in silence before Draco pulled himself up, “Let’s not talk about it, okay?”

 

When she nodded, he continued, reaching into his jacket, “I brought something for you.”

 

She instantly smiled and switched seats, going instead to sit next to him as he pulled out _Atonement_.

 

“We’re on part two now,” he murmured, taking one of her hands and giving it a soft squeeze.

 

“Can we start?” she asked eagerly, and he just smiled, nodding.

 

“There’s no chapters left, only parts.  Do you want to go by breaks?”

 

When she nodded, Draco waved his hand at the corner of the seat, and she instantly slid over.  He lay in her arms, his tense and hurt muscles relaxing as she sighed and squeezed his shoulders just a little.

 

“There were horrors enough, but it was the unexpected detail that threw him afterward would not let him go.1”

 

And so they began.

 

\--

 

_February fourteenth._

_1997._

January came and went much as the months previous to it had, though with a few more interruptions.  Draco and Hermione found their nights together in the library more precious as they were forced into a disruptive separation outside of their haven.  Harry was becoming more and more involved with Dumbledore, and Hermione was becoming increasingly worried about him.

 

Along with that, they’d begun their apparition lessons every Saturday, which left the couple weary at night.  Draco was spending more and more time away, too, to which Hermione was saddened by but accepted.  He began missing class and she rarely saw him at meals or in the halls anymore.  He promised, though, and continually held up his promise, that he would not miss a Friday or Saturday night with her in the library.  Madame Pince had long since given up collecting them, and she’d entrusted Hermione with a key to the library to lock up at night.

 

When asked, Madame Pince shrugged, leaned over her counter, and sighed, “I understand.  I was very much like you in my younger years, Miss Granger, very studious and determined, and then I met a boy, someone I wasn’t supposed to love, and he changed my world.  And, if there’s anyone in the world I trust with books, it’s you.”

 

Hermione hadn’t dared press the subject.  And so, since then, she and Draco had left the library late at night, always taking care on their way back to not get caught.  She was grateful, though, that Valentine’s Day fell on a Friday.

 

“Hello, my dove,” Draco greeted as he slid alongside her.

 

They met like this frequently on their way into the library, and she smiled as he touched her hand with his, lacing them up until they reached the doors where they parted, Hermione going in first, Draco entering ten minutes later.  They spaced out their times, differentiating them, and they switched who went in first, though both were quite sure some had caught on to their constant presence here.  Thankfully, no one said a word either way.

 

“We’ll be done with this before the end of March,” Draco noted, sitting on their couch and opening up to his dog-eared page.

 

“I almost don’t want to finish it,” Hermione said with a smile, sitting next to him.

 

He began reading while they sat side-by-side, and Hermione braided her hair, smiling when she finished, tied it off, and he extended an arm around her shoulders.  They spent most of their night discussing books they were reading, books they’d still been suggesting one another.

 

“I feel like I’m going to blow right through that section what with you and all your love of books,” he laughed as she came back, having retrieved a new one.

 

“Oh, please, you love reading them.”

 

“I do,” he promised, nodding, “What’s this one?”

 

“ _Animal Farm_ by George Orwell.  It’s really fantastic.  Though you won’t understand the symbolism in it, it’s still a good read.”

 

“And I won’t understand it because?”

 

“It’s about Muggle events.”

 

“Ah, yes, that would be why.  I have one for you, too.”

 

He extracted _Little Women_ by Louisa Alcott, and Hermione gleefully snatched it from his hands.

 

“I _love_ this book!” she exclaimed excitedly, “Oh, it’s so wonderful.  I can’t wait to reread it.”

 

He just laughed, shaking his head, “You’ve read every book, haven’t you?”

 

“Not some!”

 

He nodded, remembering one of the very few occasions he’d actually managed to pick a book she hadn’t read.  He’d been immensely proud with himself until she handed him a book he also hadn’t read, and then he sighed, glared at her, and rolled his eyes.  Of course.

 

When the earliest hours of the morning were finally striking them, Hermione was nearly asleep in Draco’s arms, and he was stroking her hair and back slowly, dozing himself.  His eyes remained on her, however, and, as the clock chimed one o’clock, she stirred, snuggling deeper into him, and he let his head tip back, tears touching his eyes.  It was in his darkest moments, even with this beauty so close and so real, that he knew he was living a dream, that he would be cut off from all that he loved and strived for far too soon.  He knew that day was coming, and he held Hermione tighter, wishing he could close his eyes and that day would be far, far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.
> 
> So I wanted to post this yesterday (cos it was my birfday!), but this is close enough (considering it’s only about one in the morning). Also, I may start spreading out updates a little bit. Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning you. I just have a lot to this story, and I don’t want it to be over too, too quickly. So, maybe, like, five days in between updates? Would that be horrible? Let me know!


	8. viii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pulled the book from inside of his robes, flipped opened to his dog-eared page, and stared at her. She nodded, and he began to read, drowning in the words and forcing them to overpower every other feeling, emotion, impulse. He read until his voice was hoarse and he could no longer feel the frustrated attempts to breach his walls.

_viii._

_We have got through so much worse than this before_

_What’s so different this time that you can’t ignore_

_April second._

_1997._

With March came a distance that tore Draco in two.  He’d never before experienced quite an ache in his heart as he did when he was forced to retreat from the library every Friday and Saturday he should have been there.  He was being watched, that much he’d become aware of, and not just by Snape, who was now keeping a closer eye on him.  He continued to spend more time in the Room of Requirements, perfecting the Vanishing Cabinet, but it was with empty hope.  He didn’t want it to work.  He never wanted to leave the moment in their hidden space, in their breath of love.

 

He had become sure of that in the weeks he spent away.  He loved Hermione, of that he was absolutely positive, and, yet, they’d never kissed, they’d never touched intimately, and they weren’t even dating, but he loved her.  She kept him alive, kept his heart beating, and he didn’t love her just for the way she made him feel, but for who she was.  He loved every single piece of her, and it broke him to stare at the doors, knowing she was just inside, and forcing himself to just continue to walk.

 

He watched her in the passing weeks, watched how she stole glances at him, eyes full of anger and hurt.  She didn’t understand, and he couldn’t explain.  Being near her had become dangerous.  Different sets of eyes followed his every movement, and he was wary of them noticing her, wary of them memorizing her face and recognizing her later.  He wanted to keep her safe, and that meant hurting her.

 

Draco had even taken to his old methods, snapping snide remarks at her anytime she came close, and saw how it destroyed her, watched how every insult sank its teeth farther and farther into her until she barely glanced his way now.  He knew it had to be so, though.  In order to save her, he had to lose her, and he understood this now.

 

Draco swallowed, letting his knuckles fall softly against the heavy wooden door.  From behind it, a muffled voice called him in, and he pushed open the door to Professor Snape’s office, entering slowly.  He nodded, acknowledging him, and Snape motioned to a chair.  Draco refused it politely, wishing this to be quick.  He was tired, and he’d had too close of an encounter with Hermione today, which left him far wearier from having to turn icy against her, to show no reaction when her delicate hand graced his arm.

 

“I just want to know why,” she whispered, and he snapped away from her.

 

“Don’t touch me, _Mudblood_ ,” he’d spat, and he had finally hit the nerve that would turn her away forever.

 

“You seem to have followed my suggestion, albeit after some time,” Snape said slowly, pressing his fingertips together; he looked far too much like the Headmaster, and Draco had to lower his glassy eyes, “Though I can see she still affects you.”

 

He felt Snape’s light probing in his mind, and he immediately sent up his walls, blocking the professor off swiftly and effectively.

 

“Draco,” he sighed, standing, “You cannot hide forever.”

 

“I won’t let you see,” he whispered, shaking his head, “I won’t let you hurt her.”

 

Snape sighed, and he pressed harder.

 

“Please stop,” Draco begged, stepping back; he was too weak to fight right now.

 

“Look what she’s done to you!” Snape exclaimed, taking a step forward, and Draco let out a soft noise of protest, sinking back against a table, “Look how weak she’s made you!  And for _what_?  To just drop her?”

 

“I had to,” he gasped, gripping the table tightly, “I have to protect her.”

 

“Who is she, Draco?”

 

“Stop,” he tried, searching deeper for strength and pushing Snape out of his thoughts, “Just forget about it.”

 

“Do you think the Dark Lord just _forgets_ those that have wronged him?  Who is she, Draco?” His voice had risen, and he stalked toward the struggling boy ever so slowly, breaking him down bit by bit.

 

Draco whimpered, and his knees collapsed beneath him.  He fell to the stone ground, and his tears fell freely.  He couldn’t handle this pressure; he didn’t know how to fight back against this agony.  His heart was torn, ripped, and he was being broken by a man he’d trusted for so long, a man he needed help from the most.

 

“I’m only trying to save you,” Snape assured, touching Draco’s shoulder, “You cannot have anymore distractions.”

 

She’d always been his distraction, his dream.  Her face flashed before his eyes, and he cursed loudly.  He shoved Snape away as her face reached his mind, and he pushed his walls up, scrambling onto his feet.

 

“Draco!” Snape shouted as he stumbled, nearly falling, “Draco, _no_!”

 

Draco sprinted from the room, and he staggered outside only once before regaining his balance and taking off.  He ran hard, forcing himself through a complicated route, one that would leave behind all watching eyes, and he burst through the library doors.  Madame Pince watched him run by, saw the fear on his face, and went to open the door, looking out.  He skidded to a stop in the back shelves, turned down one of them, and almost fell around the corner.

 

She was there.

 

She looked up, and she immediately jumped to her feet as he stumbled, caught her gaze, and fell.

 

“Draco,” she gasped, pulling him up and dragging him to the couch, where he slumped, out of breath and fighting off Snape’s continuous search.

 

He shook his head as she started to speak.

 

“Not a word.  I’ll explain.”

 

He pulled the book from inside of his robes, flipped opened to his dog-eared page, and stared at her.  She nodded, and he began to read, drowning in the words and forcing them to overpower every other feeling, emotion, impulse.  He read until his voice was hoarse and he could no longer feel the frustrated attempts to breach his walls.  And then he let go, the book tumbling from his hands as silent, violent sobs pulsed through him, and Hermione just held him against her, stroking his hair off his forehead, thumbing the nape of his neck, rubbing behind his earlobe, his favorite areas, his favorite touch.

 

When he finally calmed, enough so that he was still and his heart rate had dropped to a normal level, they’d been there an hour.

 

“Someone is watching me, and Snape is doing so more carefully.  I couldn’t let them see you.  I couldn’t let them hurt you,” he whispered, and she just pulled him closer.

 

“It’s okay.  I understand.”

 

And they continued to lay there in silence, just being together.  It was well past another hour before Hermione spoke.

 

“We know you’re using the Room of Requirements.”

 

It was a simple confession, one she’d been sitting on for nearly three weeks now, and one she’d been going back and forth with herself over whether to tell him or not.  They’d always had their silent agreement to keep things that pertained to Dumbledore and to Voldemort separate from each other, but this, this had to do with him, and Hermione felt it unfair to keep this secret.

 

“They’re coming soon.”

 

Hermione nodded.  She’d figured that much.  She’d also figured that she wouldn’t tell the boys.  Nothing but the truth of her and Draco would make his confirmation understandable.  They wouldn’t believe her unless she told them everything, and she wasn’t willing to do that.

 

“I won’t do anything with that information,” she whispered, and he nodded.

 

“Neither will I.”

 

“I just thought you should know.”

 

“As did I,” he returned, and they fell silent again.

 

A weight had blanketed them, a weight that would hang over their heads for the weeks to come.  Each knew that their dream was coming to an end, that they wouldn’t be together much longer, but they dared not discuss the subject, dared not allow their fears to overcome them.

 

“What are we, Draco?” Hermione asked as they were finally gathering their things to leave, five hours after he’d arrived.

 

He sighed, pausing, and he ran a hand through his white blonde hair.

 

“I don’t know, Hermione,” he responded, looking at her honestly, “I don’t think it would be wise to give us labels.”

 

“But, if we were to?”

 

“I would ask you to be my girlfriend, in a heartbeat.  You mean a great deal to me, Hermione.”

 

She smiled, blushing, and looked down at her hands in her lap.

 

“Thank you, Draco.”

 

He just returned the smile to the best of his ability before standing and holding out his hand to her.  She took it gratefully and, together, they walked back to the front where Madame Pince gave them a sharp look, one which told them to separate.  Draco gave Hermione one last fleeting glance before leaving, and she waited a half hour, wandering the aisles, before she dared leave, and her eyes were hot and brimming tears when she retreated to Gryffindor House alone.

 

\--

 

_April twenty-sixth._

_1997._

 

Saturday found the couple curled together, the book propped open by Draco’s elbow and Hermione’s free hand.

 

“Perhaps this was the first step in the undoing of her plans, but she was already walking back, retracing her steps, in the direction of Clapham High Street.  She would have breakfast, and she would reconsider.  Near the tube station she passed a stone drinking trough and could happily have sunk her face in it.  She found a drab little place with smeared windows, and cigarette butts all over the floor, but the food could be no worse than what she was used to.  She ordered tea, and three pieces of toast and margarine, and strawberry jam of palest pink.  She heaped sugar into the tea, having diagnosed1—stop reading along,” Draco’s voice interrupted the narrative, and Hermione smiled, closing her eyes again, “diagnosed herself as suffering from hypoglycemia.  The sweetness did not quite conceal a taste of disinfectant.1”

 

They read another six pages before Draco marked the paged and closed it.  He pressed his face into the back of Hermione’s head, his nose sliding down through her curls until it reached the nape of her neck where he blew hot air through her brown hair and against her skin.  She smiled; she loved the feeling of his breath, and he knew that.

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he murmured as he pulled away and wrapped his arms tighter around her, “I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.  Maybe all of this could have been different.”

 

“You’re still a Malfoy, Draco,” she reminded, and he was silent until she spoke again, “We wouldn’t be like this if you’d found me earlier.”

 

“We have to hide so much from each other.”

 

“It’s not like we can tell each other anything.  It’s far too dangerous, and you know neither of us actually would.”

 

He went quiet again, and she sighed, tugging on his hand until it was far out enough that she could draw circles in his palm and play with his fingers.

 

“I want to warn you.”

 

She let the sentence hang in the air for a little while before she responded, “Why?”

 

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“You know we’ll be involved somehow.’

 

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

 

“When it comes down to it, Draco, Harry and Ron are my best friends, and I _will not_ abandon them, not even for you.  You should know that.’

 

“I do.  I’ve always known it.  It just scares me to think you might get hurt.”

 

“I’ve been doing stupid things like getting hurt since I was eleven,” she huffed, and Draco smirked.

 

“You skipped out second year.”

 

“I was petrified, you arse.  Everyone thought you were the Heir of Slytherin.”

 

“Yea,” he snorted, “Because that sounded totally logical.  I loved basking in the fear, though.”

 

“You disturbing little twelve-year-old.”

 

“You guys didn’t even do anything fourth year.”

 

“Harry fought Voldemort off, in the flesh.”

 

Draco winced at the name, but Hermione paid it no mind.  They were always at odd ends about whether or not to say it, but she didn’t care.  She wasn’t afraid of him.

 

“What’d you do this year?”

 

“We can’t talk about that, remember?”

 

“You’ve done things?” he asked, shock entering his voice.

 

“Draco,” she sighed, “Just stop.  What time is it?”

 

“Almost ten.”

 

“I want to turn in early tonight.  Is that okay?”

 

“We’ll leave in another half hour?”

 

“Okay.”

 

And so he sunk deeper into Hermione, relishing in the feel of her, the reality of her.  He wished for nothing more than to stay here forever, to love her forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.


	9. ix.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He opened to the end of the book. They’d never finished it, and they never would. As soon as he was able to walk and was released, he would be gone, and he would never see her again. With this thought, he angrily read the first page of the last bit, closed it, and fell into a fitful, tearful sleep.

_ix._

_You say it is much more than just my last mistake_

_And we should spend some time apart for both our sakes_

_May sixth._

_1997._

Hermione frowned as Harry stood.  Ginny had said something that didn’t catch her attention, and she turned to the redhead as her friend walked off.  They were in the Great Hall, their lunch already finished, but they were still there, just talking and relaxing.  Exams were soon and, for once, Hermione felt like she’d studied more than she possibly could and was taking a moment of downtime.

 

“Katie Bell,” Ginny repeated, nodding toward the walking Harry.

 

They watched as he stopped her, and there was a quick conversation in which Katie looked upset and Harry’s shoulders sunk.  Hermione was about to turn her gaze back to the bored Ron to invoke conversation when Katie stopped talking, looking over Harry’s shoulder.  He followed her gaze, as did Hermione.  Draco stood there, his cloak still on the table, but he was staring straight at Katie with a look of pure horror etched onto his face.

 

Hermione made the connection before Harry did, and Ginny made it next.  Harry started to turn as Hermione stood, and Ginny quickly grabbed onto Hermione’s arm and yanked her back into her seat.  Hermione looked over at her friend, opening her mouth to retort.

 

“What is more important?” Ginny hissed venomously, and Hermione nodded, swallowing.

 

“Walk me to the library, then,” Hermione whispered, standing before Ginny could stop her.

 

“Ron, we’ll be back.  Why the library?’ she added to Hermione as Harry stormed toward Draco, who had turned and hurried away from the Great Hall.

 

“Because.  I can’t.  I can’t sit there and just wait.  I have to do something.”

 

“You’re not going to interrupt, right?”

 

“I’m not.  This is between Harry and Draco.  This isn’t my place.”

 

“Hermione,” Ginny began slowly, and Hermione stopped at her friend’s confused and uncertain face, “Hermione, I want to know.”

 

She blinked, looking straight at Ginny, “Are you sure?”

 

When Ginny nodded, Hermione reciprocated the movement, and they started to walk again.  They didn’t make it as far as the library, though.  A sudden scream and smoke billowing out from a hallway caught their attention, and shouting voices pulled them to a stop.  Ginny put both hands around Hermione’s forearm, holding her in place, but she didn’t dare move even so.  Snape sprinted past them, nearly knocking them over, McGonagall right behind him.  And, seconds later, Harry backed out, pale and terrified.  McGonagall took him by the arm and steered him away quickly, in the opposite direction of Hermione and Ginny.

 

“Walk,” Hermione demanded, but Ginny was routed to the spot.

 

“Clear out!” Snape’s voice could be heard, and Hermione tried to move her.

 

“Ginny,” she begged, and, when her friend finally snapped her head over and nodded, starting to walk, it was too late.

 

Snape clicked out of the bathroom, a limp and wet Draco in his arms.  Hermione sprinted away, and Ginny left her to run, taking a much slower pace, knowing her friend would need the extra few minutes to compose herself.

 

\--

 

_May thirteenth._

_1997._

 

Draco awoke a week later, much to the relief of Madame Pomfrey and Professor Snape, the latter of which was immediately called for when he stirred, grey eyes blinking open to the setting sun.  He stared out the window from his position in his bed, watching the dying rays, and Madame Pomfrey only noticed him as dusk settled.  She was a babble of words and praises that he ignored.  His cloak was lying at his feet, and he nudged his foot, the tiniest of smiles flashing across his face as he felt the book bump against his toes.

 

Snape said very little when he arrived.  He reprimanded Draco for panicking when he saw Katie, as it had clearly been what set off Harry, though he mentioned nothing of their last meeting except for a disapproving glare.  He reminded him of his task, and he left.  Draco held himself together as the professor walked away, but as soon as the door closed, he turned his face away and allowed a few desperate tears to escape.  The order.

 

Everything about him felt heavy, and he wished now that Snape hadn’t arrived in time, that Harry’s spell had killed him.  Though it would mean the death of his family, he would be at peace, and so would they, in the end.  He frowned, and he nudged the book again for comfort.  When Madame Pomfrey returned, he asked her quietly for it, and she retrieved _Atonement_ from his cloak, handing it over suspiciously.

 

“Isn’t this a Muggle book?”

 

He didn’t respond.  He couldn’t.  He opened to the end of the book.  They’d never finished it, and they never would.  As soon as he was able to walk and was released, he would be gone, and he would never see her again.  With this thought, he angrily read the first page of the last bit, closed it, and fell into a fitful, tearful sleep.

 

\--

 

_May twenty-third._

_1997._

Draco sat with his back against the headboard, _Atonement_ open in his hands.  He read carefully, slowly, and he was alone in the Hospital Wing.  He had never felt more alone in his life, however.  Not a single soul flittered around him, and, to the outside observer, it seemed as though his soul had also dissipated, leaving behind a broken, emotionless boy.  He’d already read this page four times today.  He couldn’t get passed it.

 

_He took a step toward her and she shrank back, no longer certain of his harmlessness—if he couldn’t talk, he might have to act.  Another step, and he could have reached her with his sinewy arm.  But Cecilia slid between them.  With her back to Briony, she faced Robbie and placed her hands on his shoulders.  He turned his face away from her. 1_

Draco sighed, putting his thumb on the page like he’d done so many times before and letting it close.  He hated this part, this dream that Briony had conjured up.  Everything had all been a dream, every stolen moment, every whispered glance, everything he’d conjured up with Hermione had been a dream.  Of this, he was certain.  It was a world where he couldn’t exist, where he didn’t belong.  It was a world where love and gaiety flourished.  He didn’t know that world.  He never would.

 

He turned his eyes back down to the page, and he frowned.  Hermione’s words floated back to him, and his eyes burned with tears.  She’d always hated Briony.  She would especially hate her now, after seeing what she’d done to her sister.

 

_“Look at me,” she murmured.  “Robbie.  Look at me.” 1_

She’d said that once, when Draco suddenly snapped the book shut and turned his gaze away from her, away from their words, away from their world.  His mind was far, lost in his previous attempt to kill Dumbledore that had nearly landed Ron in a grave had it not been for Harry’s quick thinking.

 

“Draco,” she’d whispered, touching his face.  He loved her touch, loved everything about her soft fingers, her delicate stroke.  “Draco, look at me.”  And he’d looked, and everything was okay.

 

_The reply he made was lost to Briony.  She heard his dissent or denial.  Perhaps it was an obscenity.  As Cecilia gripped him tighter, he twisted his whole body away from her, and they seemed like wrestlers as she reached up and tried to turn his head toward her.  But his face was titled back, his lips retracted and teeth bared in a ghoulish parody of a smile. 1_

He wasn’t sure why he kept reading.  He’d gone through this a thousand and one times; it was one of his favorite books.  He’d never quite read something like it, and he’d never quite felt something like he did when he dove into it.  Everytime, he relished in the words, and he knew this was how Hermione felt when she read.  He suddenly understood how she could read constantly, how she had read everything in that section, _their_ section.  It made sense to him.  That was her home.

 

With this thought, Draco dog-eared the book, slid back under his covers, and slept away the night, weariness overcoming him.

 

\--

 

_June sixth._

_1997._

It was close.

 

Draco sighed, pulling his legs up to his chest, and he rested his chin on his knees as Madame Pomfrey nodded, clearly pleased.  She motioned to the floor, and he slowly, painfully, turned his legs over the side of the bed.  Every movement hurt his torso, every second he was not still sent fires of agony shooting through him.  They were wounds that would heal over time, wounds that Snape had seared into him when he drew his blood back, wounds that magic could not mend.  He was grateful for Snape having saved him, though he hated at what cost.  His life was in ruins, even without these wounds.

 

“Can you stand?” Madame Pomfrey brought him back.

 

He nodded, and he pushed himself off the bed, standing.  He held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut.  Somewhere in his conscious mind, she instructed him to take a few steps, but he felt a tremble run through his body, and he shook his head.

 

“I’m going to keep you here for another week, Mister Malfoy, see if I can find something to help.”

 

He only nodded and carefully pulled himself back into bed.  He sank against the headboard, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his heart thudding painfully against his ribcage.  He hated being so mortally wounded.  He was a wizard, for Merlin’s sake.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

 

Sighing and shaking his head, he reached over to the small nightstand and retrieved _Atonement_.  He had bypassed the section he didn’t like a week ago, though he returned to it today, finishing the formerly ignored paragraph.

 

_Now with two hands she was gripping his cheeks tightly, and with an effort she turned his face and drew it toward her own.  At last he was looking into her eyes, but still she kept her grip on his cheeks.  She pulled him closer, drawing him into her gaze, until their faces met and she kissed him lightly, lingering on the lips.  With a tenderness that 1_

“No,” he said aloud, and he put the book back, “No.”

 

It was all just a dream.

 

\--

 

_June seventeenth._

_1997._

It was late, and Draco frowned as he noted this.  He had been unable to sleep as of late, and he knew it was because his wounds didn’t hurt as bad, because he knew he’d be able to walk tomorrow when Madame Pomfrey asked him to.  Though it was a strain on his heart to read it, he picked up the book he’d neglected for more than a week and opened to his dog-eared page.

 

_until their faces met and she kissed him lightly, lingering on the lips.  With a tenderness that Briony remembered from years ago, waking in the night, Cecilia said, 1_

Draco looked up as the door creaked open and a soft curse was uttered.  He’d already prepared his speech weeks ago when her face caught the moonlight.  She stood there a moment, just staring at him, and it was only when he broke the gaze, looking down at his book, not absorbing the words, that she moved.

 

She didn’t say a word as she sat on his bed, right next to him, her warmth so close, and he couldn’t resist as he reached down and laced his fingers with hers.

 

“Will you read me the last bit of part three?” she asked quietly, and he nodded, turning back a few pages.

 

She carefully lay beside him, and he wrapped her in his arms before clearing his throat and beginning.  They finished just over an hour, but they still remained, and it was as the clock chimed two in the morning that Draco spoke.

 

“You have to forget me,” he whispered, and she didn’t respond, “It was all a dream.  Forget everything.  Never think of it, never speak of it.  They’ll be here soon, in just a few days.  Hide.  Don’t let them find you.  Don’t ever think about me.  Don’t let me hurt you.  Forget _everything_.”

 

Hermione silenced him then, and he watched as she pushed away from him, and his heart stopped as she stared right at him, brown eyes connecting with warm grey pools, warm only because of her.  He was cold without her, and he lost his breath.

 

“Hermione,” he said one last time, touching her face, and he went to say more when she leaned forward, and Draco knew it wasn’t a dream.

 

Her lips were soft, like little pillowed clouds, and she moved gracefully, dancingly.  He kissed her back, every touch of his love for her relinquishing itself in that one kiss, their first, their last, he was sure.  It was a passionate, but delicate kiss, just a motion of affection, but it spoke worlds to him, and he knew he would never forget her, knew that she could never forget him, but knew that they would both promise they would.  They could not survive unless they did.

 

And then she left him, leaning back, and he had to touch his lips with his tongue, his fingers, he had to know it was real.  And she smiled, shook her head, and bowed her eyes.

 

“I love you,” she whispered as she stood, “I’ll wait for you.2”

 

He stared at her, and he understood.

 

“Come back2,” she said, taking a step away and releasing his hand; she was leaving him, they wouldn’t meet again, “Come back to me.2”

 

And Hermione was gone, a ghost, a memory.  Draco turned his eyes back to the book, to the very last page, and he didn’t weep, he hardly even blinked before he let himself fall into sleep, accepting their fate.

 

_She was calm as she considered what she had to do.  Together, the note to her parents and the formal statement would take no time at all.  Then she would be free for the rest of the day.  She knew what was required of her.  Not simply a letter, but a new draft, an atonement, and she was ready to begin. 1_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.
> 
> 2These lines are the respective property Christopher Hampton’s screenplay for the 2001 movie adaptation of Ian McEwan’s Atonement.
> 
> Two small apologies and a small thing: Yes, I did use a few lines from the movie, but I hope that’s alright. I’m almost positive they’re not in the book, but they’re, honestly, my favorite lines out of almost anything I’ve read/watched. So, please don’t hate on me for that.
> 
> And, as you can see, I also used the format of the bathroom scene from the movie, which I only did because it was convenient for this pairing. That’s all.
> 
> My small thing is that well, doesn’t this look like an end? It isn’t, I promise. I’ve still got one more chapter ready for this section of the story, and then we move onto parts two, three, and four. Oh my gosh! I’m kind of lame, I purposefully did four parts because of the book, but leave me alone. The second part is very, very short, probably only a few chapters, the third will be probably equal to the length of this (so roughly ten chapters), and the fourth will also be somewhat short, though longer than the second. But! I don’t want to keep you here with my ramblings much longer, just wanted to inform you of what was going on, :)


	10. x.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She smiled, allowing his chiseled face to form in her mind. She missed him, though now she could move on. She wasn’t afraid of being apart from him any longer.

_x._

_You say it is much more than just my last mistake_

_And we should spend some time apart for both our sakes_

_June twentieth._

_1997._

“You’re free to go, Mister Malfoy,” Madame Pomfrey said as she entered the main area of the Hospital Wing.

 

He didn’t respond to her, but simply pulled his black suit jacket on.

 

“Will you be alright by yourself back to Slytherin House?” she asked, touching his arm in a very maternal way as he passed by her on his way to the door.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered, and was gone.

 

Hermione entered the common room, dressed in simple clothes, and she stopped by the couch, sitting next to Ron.

 

“I’m sure he’ll be back by tomorrow,” she murmured, but Ron just continued to stare at the fire, “He’ll be okay.”

 

“I can’t believe he left without us.”

 

“Dumbledore wanted him to do this.  He needed him.  He trusted him.  We’ll just help him later, with whatever else he has to do.  I’m going to go to the library for a little bit of comfort reading.  Will you be alright by yourself?”

 

“Actually, can I come with you?”

 

Hermione smiled, patting Ron’s knee, “Of course you can.”

 

Draco pushed open the wooden doors slowly, his face rigid and emotionless, his eyes warped with despair.  Madame Pince gave him a small smile.

 

“She’s not here tonight, Mister Malfoy,” she murmured quietly, and Draco just nodded, going past her.

 

His pace was not quick, and he stopped at the last shelf, letting his eyes slip shut.  It had all just been a dream.  It didn’t matter.  He opened his eyes again, turned around the shelf, walked its length, and went around the corner.  There was a small dip that widened in the shadows, and, when Draco lit one of the main lamps with his wand, it revealed the soft room, and he stared around at it.  He could almost see their shapes pressed into the couch.

 

He let his fingers linger over where he had, in irritation, carved at the desk, and he smiled as he remembered Hermione berating him and tugging on his ear to make him stop.  He loved when she did that, though he put up a false pretense of frustration.  He heard the doors open distantly, and he looked over his shoulder only a moment, catching just the briefest whisper from Madame Pince.  He couldn’t make out the words, but he knew she was here.

 

Draco reached into his jacket, slipped _Atonement_ out, a note tucked in the back, and he brought it to his lips, kissing the corner like she’d done so many times before.  Before they’d ever kissed that one time, this was how they shared one another, small, delicate, kissed corners.  And he set it down, letting his fingers trail over it for only a second as he heard Hermione’s voice; Ron responded to her.  He nodded.  She needed a distraction, she needed to move on.

 

He left as he heard her footfalls approach, and he glanced up as he made his way back along the opposite side of aisles.  He saw a flash of her brown eyes, the dance of her brown curls, the elegance of her soft skin, her delicate face, and he quickened his pace.  She wouldn’t see him again.  He let the doors close behind him as she reached the small room, and she gasped.

 

Hermione blinked.

 

“This is your little home away from home?” Ron laughed; they were standing in the middle of the shelves.

 

She’d seen a flash of grey eyes, a white blonde head, a graceful face, an angled jaw.  He was in all black, and she understood.

 

“No, it’s back here.  Sorry, I thought I saw someone I knew,” she mumbled, taking his hand and pulling him back around the shelf, along the wall, and around the corner.

 

A book was laying face-up on the couch, and she gasped.  Their book, with a note tucked in the back.

 

Draco stopped at the Room of Requirements next, and he only waited until he saw the black smoke of the Death Eaters before he turned away.  He was resolute, determined.  He wouldn’t let them find her.  He made his way to the Astronomy Tower out of pure habit; it was one of the few places besides the library that he found comforting.

 

_I’m sorry.  I love you.  I’ll always be waiting, always wondering when I can come back to you.  Don’t forget me.  Ever._

Hermione let her tears fall in the comfort of Ron’s arms, hiding the note back in the book.  No one would ever understand.

 

\--

 

_two._

 

_August eighth._

_1997._

Hermione was sitting at the piano in the main living room on the first floor at Grimmauld Place.  Her fingers danced gracefully across the white and black keys.  Harry was lying on the couch, eyes closed with the sun streaming through the window onto him while Ron stared at the chess board.  Hermione had never written a song before, but, upon their arrival here, she’d found the piano, and the first few measures just leapt out of her from somewhere deep inside of her.  And now she kept a small journal with her song.  She knew what had inspired it, though she dared not acknowledge it.

 

Harry’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she sighed.  She’d never been able to completely close herself off like _he_ had, one feature she’d always been envious of.  She cleared her throat and stared at her hands, hovering above the keys.  She heard a murmur, and she pushed it away.  It persisted, but Hermione closed her eyes, and it was gone.  Silence settled around her, and a note sounded in her ear.  She chased it, and her fingers settled on the keys again in a delicate mess.

 

When she lost it again, she hurriedly reached for her journal, jotting the notes down, drawing in new measures, and smiling to herself.  The murmur touched her again, and she sighed again, letting it in.  Harry.

 

“You okay, ‘Mione?”

 

“Yea, why?”

 

“I tried asking you a question, and you just sat there before playing again.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I was trying to think of what should come next.”

 

Harry just nodded before going back to his game.  They’d tried talking to her about what had happened, what had brought her to this different, more introverted Hermione, but she refused to speak of it.  She only shook her head everytime they’d tried, and Harry had even gone to Ginny once, curious, but she was adamant that she didn’t know.  The only clues to her change were the song and a book, _Atonement_ , a book that never left her side.

 

After another hour or so, Hermione sighed, closed her journal, and went to sit with the boys.  They were playing another game of Exploding Snaps, though she knew they were becoming increasingly bored with being here.  When they finished, Harry and Hermione went to cook dinner while Ron took to wandering Regulus’ room, looking for anything they may have missed.

 

“He worries about you,” Harry said, sitting on the table as Hermione put a pot of water on to boil, “As do I.  You aren’t the same anymore, Hermione.  I wish you would talk to us about what happened last year.  I know it doesn’t have to do with what I was going through, and I’m starting to think it doesn’t even have to do with Ron anymore.  I could understand that, not wanting to talk about Ron, but it’s just me, Hermione.  You can talk to me.”

 

She knew she’d been unfair to them, especially Harry, and she sighed, not turning.

 

“It was a boy,” she confessed, tracing circles in the counter.

 

She smiled, and his voice rang in her head, clear as though she’d fallen back in time to a dream moment in a library, a world away from harm.

 

_“That tickles,” he whined, shaking his head just a little._

_“What does?” she laughed, continuing her circles at the nape of his neck._

_“That,” he groaned, wriggling away from her, and she let out a tinkling laugh, pulling on the baby hairs, which only made him move around even more._

His laugh rang in her ears, a sound that he saved just for her.  She loved his laugh, how soft and reserved it was, how she’d never heard it before they’d dreamed together.  She liked to watch the very faint, barely there laugh lines creep out, the tiny little sparkle in his grey eyes.

 

“We met in the library.  I showed Ron the room one time, though I told him it was just my little home away from home.”

 

_“You can’t stop there!” she exclaimed, gasping, “It’s such a cliffhanger!”_

_“We’re reading tomorrow,” he sighed, and she glared at him playfully._

“He read to me, the only person that ever could.  I hate being read to, even when I was little, I always wanted to do it myself.  I hated bedtime stories.  But I loved it when he did.”

 

_“You’re going to get us kicked out!” she hissed, slapping his arm._

_He continued to read in a loud, boisterous voice, and he only dropped it when one of the characters was frightened, whispering._

_“This is a library!” Madame Pince interrupted him, and he just smirked, hiding his face in her hair._

“Who?”

 

Hermione paused, facing Harry.

 

“Who was it?” he clarified.

 

Pools of grey, filled with sorrow, but warm as they touched her gaze, and Hermione shut her eyes, willing the image to vanish.

 

_“Forget everything.”_

And it was gone, her memories locked away.

 

“No one special,” she mumbled, sitting across from him.

 

“No one special?” he repeated, shaking his head, “Hermione, you’re writing a _song_ about him.”

 

But Hermione had already stood up and left.  She couldn’t think about him.

 

\--

 

_November twenty-seventh._

_1997._

_I’ve been standing at the window, feeling waves of tiredness beat the remaining strength from my body.  The floor seems to be undulating beneath my feet.  I’ve been watching the first gray light bring into view the park and the bridges over the vanished lake.  And the long narrow driveway down which they drove Robbie away, into the whiteness.  I like to think that it isn’t weakness or evasion, but a final act of kindness, a stand against oblivion and despair, to let my lovers live and to unite them at the end.  I gave them happiness, but I was not so self-serving as to let them forgive me.  Not quite, not yet.  If I had the power to conjure them at my birthday celebration… Robbie and Cecilia, still alive, still in love, sitting side by side in the library, smiling at_ The Trials of Arabella _?  It’s not impossible._

_But now I must sleep._ 1

 

Hermione closed the book, smiling.  It was her shift to keep watch, and she hadn’t read the book since June.  She looked up, huddling deeper in her jacket.  It was getting colder, and she was starting to worry about how much longer they could last camping outside.  Her brow furrowed, however, when she heard obnoxious footfalls.  She stood, walking toward the source of the noise, though she instantly stopped when three men stomped by.

 

“Where are these ones going?” one of them asked, his voice rough.

 

Hermione recognized the other as Fenrir Greyback, a Death Eater.  The two were carrying a person each, though their leader, she assumed, was empty-handed and walking behind them.

 

“To the Manor,” he said as he stopped, and he turned.

 

His companions noticed him and sighed, letting their people drop.  The leader, a man with crazy brown hair that was gathered together in a braid at the nape of his neck, snapped back to them at the thud of bodies.

 

“What are you _doing_?” he demanded, “The Dark Lord wants them in good shape.”

 

“Why does everyone go back to the Manor?” the unrecognizable one asked as the leader turned back to Hermione, protected by shield charms.

 

“Only the students do, dumbass,” Greyback growled.

 

“Do you smell roses?” the leader asked, and he stopped just before Hermione; he could smell her perfume.

 

“Scabior,” Greyback sighed, and the leader turned.

 

“ _What_?”

 

He stalked away, much to the relief of a terrified Hermione, and they left, their conversation fading away.  _The Manor_.

 

“Draco,” the name fell from her lips accidentally, and her heart fluttered.

 

She smiled, allowing his chiseled face to form in her mind.  She missed him, though now she could move on.  She wasn’t afraid of being apart from him any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.
> 
> As in last chapter, an apology: I will admit, I haven’t read Deathly Hallows since it was published, and so, I’m basing a lot of my knowledge of different events off the movie (of course, I’ve also been going through the calendar timelines provided by the wonderful Lexicon). That said, I do know that Scabior isn’t the leader of the Snatchers and that Greyback is, but, honestly, I really love Scabior’s character and what they did with him in the movie (and I kind of hate Greyback a lot more than most of the Death Eaters; I have fondness for some, as you’ll come to see), so that’s that. Hope it’s alright.
> 
> And, I hope the beginning set-up didn’t confuse you too much. No, Draco and Hermione were not in the same place, I just switched back and forth between them. I’ll be using this again at some point, I believe, so that’s how it goes.
> 
> Oh, and yes, you did see right. Part two begins at the second date.


	11. xi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her screams were enough to break anyone, but Draco was a Malfoy in this house, and so he held fast, grey eyes boring into the scene before him, shoulders tensed and heart ripping. He watched her whole body convulse, his Aunt Bella hovering over her, straddling her waist and carving Mudblood into her arm.

_xi._

_And I don’t know where to look_

_My words just break and melt_

_March twenty-first._

_1998._

Draco sighed.

 

He didn’t want to be here.  He’d arrived on the platform to an empty set of arms.  His parents weren’t there to gather him, as he was sure they wouldn’t be.  He almost missed the years before when his mother had shown every single time, no matter his age, a large smile on her face and a welcoming hug.  It was one of the very few public displays of affection that his father allowed.  He missed his mother, more than anything in the world.  His mother and _her_.

 

He pushed forward, levitating his trunk behind him, and he stepped up to the door, reaching for the handle when it flew open on its own accord.  He quickly stepped aside as his Aunt Bella came storming out, screeching and shooting hexes at anything within sight.  Rudolphus, her husband, followed her, his calm demeanor slipping as she continued to scream.

 

Draco waited for them to pass on before slipping into the Manor, avoiding eye contact with everyone.  They didn’t bother to acknowledge him either, and so it didn’t matter much.  He went up the stairs, and he only stopped when his mother exited her room and nearly jumped out of her skin.

 

“My baby!” she cried, and his trunk made a loud thud as it crashed into the floor when he dropped the charm and ran to her.

 

She held him tightly against her, petting the back of his hair and squeezing him.  He had so missed her.

 

“When did you get in, darling?” she whispered, pulling back and cupping his face, “Look at how old you are.  My goodness, you’ve aged far too much.”

 

She shook her head, eyes glistening with tears.

 

“Come, talk to me in your room.  It’s one of the few safe places left.”

 

She pulled him off to his room after he flicked his trunk back into the air, and he was unpacking his clothes into his dresser when she sighed.

 

“I wish they didn’t put you through this.  You don’t deserve such torture.”

 

“It’s the way it is, mother.  We can’t change it,” he reminded, and she just nodded.

 

“How long are you home?”

 

“Just two weeks,” he murmured as he finished before going to sit next to her.

 

“Try to say nothing while you’re here.  Only speak when spoken to.  Keep safe, my love.  Stay in here at all times unless you are beckoned.  _Please_ ,” she whispered, “be brave.”

 

He nodded, and his mother left him with a kiss on the forehead.  He didn’t want to be here.

 

\--

 

_March twenty-third._

_1998._

_“What time is it?” Hermione whispered._

_Her breath was warm on his neck, and her voice was soft, just a touch._

_“It’s late,” Draco returned, sighing into her and breathing her back in, “I don’t want to leave.”_

_“Neither do I, but we can’t stay here.  That would be taking advantage, exactly what she asked us not to do.”_

_“I just want to be here forever with you, Hermione.”_

_“I never want to leave you, trust me.”_

Draco awoke in a furious sweat, pale and shaking.  It was far too early to get up and be awake, but he couldn’t force himself back into sleep.  This wasn’t the first time he’d dreamt of her, dreamt a memory from their world, though each one left him more afraid than the last.  He was losing her.

 

When he first returned to Hogwarts, he half-expected her to be gone, but the actuality of that fact didn’t hit him until he sat for the opening feast and she wasn’t there.  He still hoped, though, and he went to the library the first Friday they were back, but she never showed.  She didn’t show the following Saturday, either.  He waited for her in class, searched for her in the halls, and he only gave up when Christmas came and he was leaving, and she still wasn’t there.  She’d left, and she wasn’t his any longer.

 

He sighed, turning onto his side.  She’d never been his in the first place, though he’d felt protective of her, responsible for her happiness.  He wanted to give her his whole heart, and now he couldn’t.  He wished so strongly that she were here to soothe him, to calm him, to love him.

 

But she wasn’t.  And he was alone.

 

\--

 

_March twenty-fourth._

_1998._

“Draco.”

 

He turned at his mother’s urgent tone, arching an eyebrow.  He was tired, though he masked it well with indifference.

 

“Come.  Quickly.”

 

“What’s going on?” he asked as he stood.

 

“Scabior thinks he’s found Harry Potter.  You have to identify him.  Because you went to school with him,” she added, nodding and motioning for him to hurry.

 

Hermione swallowed audibly.  The long gravel walkway was intimidating, though the gargantuan black mansion that loomed in the distance nearly stilled her heart.  Bellatrix Lestrange met them at the wide, black gates, and Harry flinched.  Hermione could feel his anger, and she grit her teeth.

 

“Get Draco,” the wild-haired woman said over her shoulder, and a Death Eater disappeared into black smoke back up to the Manor.

 

Draco.  This was the Malfoy Manor.  Hermione stumbled as they moved again, and her breath caught in her throat.  No.  He couldn’t be here.  He couldn’t.

 

“Harry Potter?” Draco repeated, and his mother nodded, sighed, and went into the room, grabbing his arm.

 

“ _Quickly_ ,” she hissed, nearly dragging him out of the room.

 

“And any others?” he had to ask, though, thankfully, she didn’t find this suspicious.

 

“Rudolphus said there were two others with him, though unnamed.”

 

Draco almost stumbled, but he quickly regained his composure, and he was just entering the spacious living room, cleared of all its furniture, when he heard the front doors open.  No.  Not her.

 

He stood by his mother as they were shoved in, and he held his walls together, though his eyes betrayed him as he looked at her, face dirty, eyes wild and afraid, clothes torn, and curls nearly gone in the absence of care or time.  When she finally straightened and someone had grabbed her, separating her from Harry, she looked up, and her eyes widened.

 

His throat felt thick as his father put a hand on the back of his neck.  He whispered something to him, quick and sharp, his voice low, and Draco vaguely felt himself nod, just one curt movement.  She was here.  They were going to hurt her, of this, he was sure.  He listened as a distant voice, his Aunt Bella, ordered him to identify a disfigured Harry.  The faintest flicker of a smile touched his mouth before he knelt; Hermione’s attempt to disguise him.  He looked Harry dead in the eye, tried to convey everything, and Harry blinked, confused.

 

“Draco,” his mother hissed, and he paused just a second longer, letting his grey eyes shift to the left.

 

Harry didn’t follow his gaze immediately.  He waited as Draco stuttered out an unsure answer, said that he couldn’t be certain.  He didn’t know with his face.  And when he stood, he watched Harry look at Hermione then back at him, and he nodded, once.

 

“You?” he mouthed, “ _Atonement_?”

 

Draco barely caught it, but he didn’t respond as his mother had put a hand on his shoulder.  He spared one more second to look at Harry, trying to make him understand, before he retracted his gaze, put it on his aunt, his aunt who was ordering the boys away into the dungeons.  She stepped dangerously close to Hermione, and she said something about girl to girl.  Draco’s fists clenched.  No.

 

Her screams were enough to break anyone, but Draco was a Malfoy in this house, and so he held fast, grey eyes boring into the scene before him, shoulders tensed and heart ripping.  He watched her whole body convulse, his Aunt Bella hovering over her, straddling her waist and carving _Mudblood_ into her arm.  Another scream, one laced with agony, tore from Hermione as Bellatrix practically giggled, “ _Crucio_.”  His mother refused to watch, and instead was inspecting a photograph on the mantle, though he could understand why.  Hermione fell to a whimper, and she could barely respond when Bellatrix shrieked at her.  “ _Crucio_.”  Tears finally made Draco’s eyes hot, but he didn’t remove his gaze; he couldn’t.  The word rang in his ears, “ _Crucio_ ,” and he felt as though he’d been slapped, stabbed, “ _Crucio_ ,” destroyed, death would have been sweet.

 

Bellatrix was standing suddenly, and she stepped away from Hermione, leaving her lying on the floor.  Minutes passed in interrogating the goblin while Draco kept his eyes on Hermione, soaking her in.  He wanted nothing more than to run to her and pull her into his arms, to kiss her tears away and stroke her soft hair.  He wanted to love her, to whisper that it would be alright, to take her far away from everything.

 

Draco almost didn’t notice Ron charge Bellatrix, Harry right behind him.  He took one look at them, firing spells, and he jumped in front of Hermione, shielding her from anymore harm.  He wished, though, when he heard his Aunt Bella yell for them to stop, that he’d let them take her.  He blamed his instincts to protect her as he turned, staring at Hermione, a knife to her throat, a trail of blood snaking down her neck, limp in Bellatrix’s arms.  He stepped forward.  His mother touched his hand, and he stopped, but his heart yearned for her, his breath quickened as he locked eyes with her, pain eminent in every one of his features.

 

“Call him,” Bellatrix ordered, eyes on Harry; Hermione’s spell had worn off.

 

There was a small noise, though, that caught their attention, and Bellatrix released Hermione to jump back as their chandelier came crashing down, compliments to Dobby the House Elf.  Hermione dashed underneath the falling chandelier as Draco pressed himself to the wall, and, before he could still his heart, before he could gather his sense, before he could even glance her way, she was gone.

 

“Leave,” his mother said to him from across the room as Bellatrix stared at the spot where they’d disapparated.

 

“Draco, _leave_!” his mother shouted, and he snapped away from the wall.

 

He was almost at the door when he heard Bellatrix whisper, and Draco’s body folded in pain.  His mother let out a cry as Draco held his composure, hands braced on the floor and head hung low.  Bellatrix turned her wand, inflicting another way of pain, and Draco bit his lip until it bled, a spot of bright red on the palest skin.

 

“ _Bella_!” his mother screeched, though his father held her back, fearing for both their lives.

 

“You knew it was them,” Bellatrix hissed, stepping forward and flicking her wand.

 

Draco let out a small, agonized yelp, and Bellatrix repeated the movement once more, sending him onto the floor on his back, panting and heart pounding in his ribcage.

 

“You knew it was them,” she repeated, staring down at him, “And you let them get away because you weren’t _sure_.  You knew it was them.  I saw the way you looked at them.  You knew.”

 

She flicked her wand, and a scream ripped from the back of his throat.  He’d never experienced pain so great like this before, pain that warped his insides out, pain that seared through him, white hot and blinding.

 

Draco faintly heard footsteps, many, though, at their display, they stopped, and Bellatrix didn’t glance up at the watching Death Eaters, their eyes wide in horror.  Though they’d inflicted this curse before, they’d never turned their wands on one another.

 

“You _knew_!” she shrieked, and Draco felt his consciousness slipping away as she flicked her wand again, and his body convulsed, another scream bubbling from deep within him.

 

His vision blurred around the edges, slowly turned black, and his mother was screaming and sobbing furiously.  Bellatrix was shouting still, but he couldn’t hear her.

 

“Bellatrix, that’s enough,” he heard a stern, male voice say, not his father.

 

She yelled something at him, flicked her wand, and he was limp.  No sound came from him.  Lucius released his wife, staring at his son disbelievingly.  Narcissa ran at her sister, coming in front of her wand and slapping her hard.  The spell broke, but Draco lay there, barely breathing.

 

“You will never harm my son again,” Narcissa warned dangerously, and Bellatrix lifted her wand, smirking.

 

With one fluid, almost unseen motion, Narcissa stunned her, so forcefully she was thrown across the room and against the opposite wall.

 

“Lucius,” she said sharply, not looking at her husband, “Help me.”

 

She knelt by Draco, pushing blonde hair from his forehead.  She leant down, touched his forehead with a soft kiss, and her lower lip trembled as he lay still.

 

“Lucius!” she shouted, her voice breaking, “Help me!”

 

He blinked, turning his eyes away from Bellatrix, and he quickly ran to his wife.  He didn’t say a word as he swiftly lifted his son into his arms, and the Death Eaters parted at the bottom of the stairs, allowing them to take him safely to his room, where he lay for days without waking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> CLIFFHANGER, HAHA.
> 
> I don’t have much of a disclaimer for this one, so I thought I’d just leave you guys with a regular ole author’s note, :) I know I’m a bit mean, but don’t worry, he’ll be alright. Oh, actually! I do kind of have a disclaimer! Pertaining to how the whole interrogation/chandelier scene went, that was taken from the movie, so don’t be too furious with me. Again, I haven’t read Deathly Hallows in ages, and, yes, I know Ron has to extract Hermione from the chandelier, but, again, also, it was more convenient this way.


	12. xii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was still wearing his nice pants and his suit jacket, his black turtle neck and his nice shoes. His hair was still parted and pushed back, and his skin was as pale as ever, but, if one looked closely, they saw the warmth in his eyes, a warmth that had never been there before, a warmth that she had brought.

_xii._

_Please just save me from this darkness_

_March twenty-ninth._

_1998._

When Draco awoke, there was only a week left of break.  His mother found him sitting at his desk, his composure straight but his hand quick.  His quill flew across the small journal, quickly filling in the lines that he’d previously discarded.  This is how he would remember her.

 

His mother’s first reaction was to calmly close the door and sit on his bed.  She put a silencing charm over the room and let out a long breath before a heavy silence fell over them, and, with the silence, came her tears.  Draco kept his back turned toward his mother, ignoring her quiet despair.

 

“Draco,” she finally said after a length of time, “I thought you were gone.  I thought I’d never see you again.”

 

“Maybe you should have stopped her, then,” he snapped, and he could almost feel her wince.

 

“Your father,” she said, shaking her head.

 

“My _father_ ,” he spat, “has never been a match for you.  You’re an independent woman, mother.  You’ve always stood against him when the need arose.”

 

“Draco,” she sobbed, “My baby, please forgive me.”

 

“Where’s Aunt Bella?”

 

“Downstairs.”

 

“I’m not leaving this room.”

 

“I don’t want you to.  I’ll have the elves bring you meals.  Otherwise, this room is to remain locked and no one is to enter.”

 

“You may,” he whispered, though she caught it, and, while she did not smile, warmth spread through her.

 

She crossed the room in quick, delicate steps, and she bent, kissing him on the cheek and laying a hand at the nape of his neck.

 

“I love you, Draco.”

 

The sentiment rarely passed from her lips, and Draco instantly stopped writing.

 

“I’ll come back to check on you later,” she murmured before starting away.

 

“Mother,” he said as she reached the door, and she turned, her hand on the knob, “I love you, too.”

 

This time, she smiled.

 

\--

 

_April seventeenth._

_1998._

Draco cleared his throat, making it very obvious how very uncomfortable he was with the current silence.  When the girl in front of him still continued to stare, he rolled his eyes, but she suddenly held up a hand.

 

“You’re… _apologizing_ to me?” she asked, blinking, “ _Apologizing_?  Draco Malfoy?”

 

He shrugged, and a hint of a smile played on her lips.

 

“Who did this to you?” she demanded, shaking her head, “Who changed you?”

 

“Now, see, I can’t really tell you that,” he responded right back, and it was when she laughed that Draco was reminded why he’d always cherished Pansy.

 

“Please, elaborate on this sudden change of heart,” she said, leaning back into the leather couch and looking over at him, “Or does this have to do with the impending war?”

 

“No, no, it was someone.  She made me see…” he paused, looking for the right words, “Pansy, she makes me happy.  She makes my world go around the right way, and she takes my breath away, and she makes my heart thump harder than it ever should.”

 

“You totally love her,” Pansy concluded, nodding, “And she made you _apologize_?  Exactly, what, if I may, are you apologizing for?  I should be the one saying sorry,” she laughed, shaking her head, “I don’t know what got into me those years, always chasing after you.  I guess I wanted my fairytale, and you were the knight in shining armor I couldn’t get.  You left me, and I was just a little princess then,” she shook her head again, adorably choppy bangs brushing her eyebrows, “I can see you now, though.  Before Christmas, I didn’t have a clue about you, but now I can see what she’s done to you, how she’s slipped right into your heart.  She’s cracked your walls, but she’s the only one that can fit through.  And you’re apologizing for the way you behaved to me,” she sighed, “Draco, darling, I deserved it.”

 

“You didn’t.  I was cruel.  You were one of my best friends, and I pushed you away, I made myself think I despised you just because I didn’t want the affection because it was too real, and I thought I was too good for friends.  I was so wrong.”

 

“Draco,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, “I’m dating Blaise.”

 

“I knew it!” he exclaimed, turning his eyes on her instantly, “That’s why you’re so okay with this!”

 

She glared playfully at him before straightening and pulling her legs under her.  It was a familiar movement, one he’d watched her do so many times before, and he smiled.  He was thankful for what _she’d_ given him, for how she’d opened his eyes to the hurt he was causing to those around him.

 

\--

 

_May second._

_1998._

It was over.

 

Draco felt numb as he stared at the crumpled black heap that he’d once feared, that he’d once done everything and anything for.  Harry was on his knees not far from him, head hung and panting; his shoulders shook.

 

All around him, destruction reigned.  Mrs. Weasley’s wails rang clearest to him, and he could barely lift his eyes from her, from her dead son.  He thought it was Fred, he thought he’d heard someone whisper that in shock.  Even as a Malfoy, he knew what a colossal loss this was.  Fred Weasley, George’s twin, dead.  George would never be the same, and, at this thought, Draco shifted his gaze but could not find the identical redhead anywhere.  He returned his grey eyes to Mrs. Weasley, and heavy footfalls caught his attention.

 

“No!”  Ron.

 

The youngest son skidded to a stop, dropping beside his mother and shaking his head.  He yelled his brother’s name, angry tears streaming down his face.  His sister, Ginny, quietly lifted him away, her whole body trembling, and he let her into his arms, and they mourned together.

 

Movement caught his eye, and he looked to Harry, who had lifted his head and was staring at Ron and Ginny.  Harry, who had nothing, and now another part of his family had been taken from him.  Mr. Weasley appeared, and Draco watched him stop in the entrance, staring at his two children, his sobbing wife, and then he dropped his gaze on Harry, who stared back at him.  He nodded once, and Harry looked away.  Draco wanted to help him, to tell him he was sorry, but he knew it was wrong.

 

He stood there, his mother and father behind him, off to a corner.  They weren’t sure if they were allowed to be here, if anyone would be angry with them here.  But they’d shown their true colors, aiding in the victory against Voldemort.  Even thinking his name sent shudders down Draco’s spine, and he let his eyes settle on the black heap again.  It was over.

 

“Harry.”

 

He heard the voice, though his brain didn’t register it at first.

 

“Harry, get up.  C’mon.”

 

He looked back to Harry, and he saw a tangle of brown curls help him up, pulling him into a strong hug.

 

“It’s over, Harry.  It’s okay.”

 

She didn’t move her eyes from her friend, and they walked away to the Weasley’s after they were finished.  She never glanced his way.  She didn’t even know he was there.

 

Hermione took Ginny from Ron, staring disbelievingly down at Fred.

 

“Ron, where’s George?” she demanded, snapping her friend from his trance, “Where is George?” she repeated, and he shook his head.

 

“I haven’t seen him.”

 

“Go find him.  Harry, take Ginny.”

 

Harry did as he was told, and Hermione sucked in a long breath.  She had to hold it together, just for right now.  She had to patch things up.  She was strong, she could do this.  She took Ron’s hand, a sign of comfort, and she led him away from his family.

 

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, and he nodded.

 

“I know.  I just can’t believe it.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he repeated her sentiment, and he smiled, just the smallest of smiles, “I’m glad you’re here with me, Hermione.  I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

Hermione turned her gaze away, blushing.  Ron had been growing closer and closer to her as her feelings for him disappeared almost entirely.  Her heart was locked now, and only one person held the key, only one person ever would.

 

They found George eventually, coaxing him back to the castle where he silently stared at his brother.  He would never be the same.

 

McGonagall clicked in, and Draco stared at her, willing her to tell them it was okay, that they belonged here.  She didn’t notice them at first, and he was about to drop his gaze when she turned to face them, and her features softened uncharacteristically.

 

“Draco, Narcissa, Lucius,” she acknowledged all of them, “Thank you.”

 

And she left, and it was okay.  No one shot them any glares, no one muttered any rude remarks.  They mourned, and the Malfoy’s watched on silently.  This world, this hall of Muggle-borns and blood traitors, as his father would grumble, this was their new home, and they’d been accepted.

 

Draco watched as McGonagall swept Harry into a hug, and she whispered something to him that he couldn’t hear.  He’d never seen her express such emotion, and it shocked him even further when she pulled away and placed her hands on his shoulders, and tears were glistening in her eyes.  They exchanged a small conversation before she gave him one last sad smile and left.

 

He found Hermione again, and he willed her to turn, to see him, just once.  But Ron’s arm was around her, and he wasn’t angry, didn’t feel protective.  She was his now, and she was safe with him.  He wished nothing but happiness on her, even if it rendered him empty, heartbroken.

 

Hermione smiled as Ron pulled her closer.  She enjoyed his company, she was thankful for his comfort, but she pined for a different set of arms, a soft kiss, warm grey eyes.  She turned from his grasp, giving him a warm smile, and she let her feet wander.  Something tingled in her as she approached the doors, and she knew he was here.

 

She kept walking, wandering far from the destruction, until she reached the edge of the Black Lake, far enough that she was separate from everyone, and no one would watch her.

 

“I need fresh air.  I can’t be in here any longer,” Draco excused himself, and his steps were brisk, sharp.

 

He was still wearing his nice pants and his suit jacket, his black turtle neck and his nice shoes.  His hair was still parted and pushed back, and his skin was as pale as ever, but, if one looked closely, they saw the warmth in his eyes, a warmth that had never been there before, a warmth that she had brought.

 

He could see her by the lake, her soft curls weak, and her figure straight.  She was strong, much stronger than she had been.  His memory flashed to her shaken and limp figure on the floor, and he shook his head, clearing his mind.

 

Draco stopped a few paces behind her, unsure of what he was to say, what he was to do.  He felt shy suddenly, and he smiled.  Only she could do this to him.

 

He watched as she turned, and her eyes were fixed on his.

 

“Draco,” she spoke first, and he closed the distance between them in one large step, pulling her against him.

 

His insides ignited, she was in his arms.  He felt everything fall away from him, and he was okay in this moment, this soft embrace.

 

“I love you,” he gasped, meshing one hand with her curls while the other remained on the small of his back, holding her as close as he could.

 

Hermione sighed into him, releasing all her fears.  He was here.  Everything was okay.

 

She pulled back from him, and she snaked her hands up to cup his face, and she watched him relax under her touch, and she smiled.

 

“I love you, Draco,” she whispered, and a smile flickered onto his face right before he dipped his chin and kissed her, passionately, longingly, lovingly.

 

“God, I’ve missed you,” he let out as they parted and he let his forehead fall onto hers, “I’ve missed you so much, Hermione.”

 

“You came back,” she murmured, and he laughed, a soft, small laugh.

 

“I’ll always come back to you,” he promised, looking her in the eyes, “I’ll never leave you again.”

 

“Nor will I.”

 

And she sunk back into him, wanting nothing but to stay in his arms forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol.


	13. xiii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She glanced over at Draco, and, as if he felt her gaze on him, he averted his eyes to smile at her before returning his attention to Arthur. She’d never felt so lucky.

_three._

_xiii._

_Don’t be scared of anything at all_

_Everything we have is all we need_

_August third._

_1998._

Though they’d been reunited by the Black Lake after the war, Hermione had gone back to her friends without him.  It hadn’t been the time to reveal their relationship.  However, as the days fell by and May faded into June and June blossomed into July, she finally plucked up enough courage.

 

Hermione sat in her room at her house, staring at Draco’s letter intently.  She’d memorized every word as it had been the only contact between the two of them since May.  They hadn’t spoken, hadn’t seen each other, but they’d promised by the lake that they’d find their way back to each other.  He had to sort his life out, had to pull his parents back together, had to make the Manor into a home again.  And, likewise, she had to help support the Weasley’s, she had to take care of herself, and she had to be with her friends.

 

_My love –_

_Oh, how I miss you.  Every day without you is empty, but I manage, as you asked me to.  The Manor looks beautiful; I finally can recognize it again.  I have a request.  I’ve already spoken with my parents, and, while my father is in disbelief, my mother understands.  I want you to come stay here for a week, so we can be together.  I want to hold you in my arms and I want to kiss you until we dream again.  If you accept, please let me know.  My parents won’t be home that week, either; they’re finally taking a vacation so they can relax for once._

_In answer to your request, of course.  When you first asked, I wasn’t sure that I would be alright with letting them know, but I was silly.  They’re your best friends, and I want to show you off to the world.  I want everyone to know you’re mine.  If it’s okay, I’d also like to tell Blaise and Pansy, and I’d like you to meet them, as well._

_Write me words of love._

_Draco_

She smiled, touching the corner when she knew he’d kissed it.  Her Draco, finally.  He would be arriving at her house in just an hour before they went over to the Burrow to formally introduce him as hers.  She’d told the boys and Ginny on July eighth, and she’d nodded when Ginny asked if it was safe to spread the word around to the rest of the family.  Mrs. Weasley was the first to approach her, and she sat Hermione down in the kitchen, banished everyone else away from the room, and, for the first time since she’d met her, Mrs. Weasley sat still, her hands curled around a mug of tea.

 

They sat, and they talked, and Hermione revealed everything, told her the entire story, from beginning to end, and Mrs. Weasley listened with a soft ear and a straight face.  She didn’t smile, she didn’t frown.  When she finished, the maternal redhead reached forward and grasped one of her hands.

 

“You love him,” she stated matter-of-factly, and Hermione just nodded, “You look like me when I first realized I loved Arthur,” she sighed, “I think you should bring him over, have him meet the family, officially.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Hermione,” she laughed as she sat back, “I consider you my daughter.  If some young man has swept you off your feet, I’d like to meet him.  And, also, I think it would do well to appease all of my _eavesdropping children_!” she finished in a shout, glaring at the doorway, “Honestly, there’s no door, and you’re just standing there.”

 

“Honestly,” Ron mimicked, rolling his eyes.

 

He and Harry had discussed the relationship of Draco and Hermione for some time, and he seemed to be taking it rather well.  He entered the kitchen, and Hermione watched as he battled with himself before laying a hand on her shoulder.

 

“Malfoy, Hermione?” he grimaced.

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

“Yea, I heard it,” he laughed, “I just don’t get it.  But, I guess it’s your choice.  I’m not calling him _Draco_ , though,” he spat, and Hermione just smiled.

 

“You don’t have to, Ronald.”

 

And, when she turned her eyes to Harry, she was most afraid.  But he just nodded, a small smile, and she noticed Ginny holding his hand.  Nothing could upset him now.

 

Hermione was brought back to the present as there was a knock on the door.  Her mother entered, smiling softly.

 

“When are we leaving?” she asked.

 

“In an hour.  Draco should be here soon.”

 

Her mother just nodded before disappearing again, and Hermione looked back at the letter once more before folding it and stowing it away on her desk.  Her parents would also be joining them for the dinner at the Burrow.  She went to dress, and she was just finishing when there was a knock downstairs.  She had donned a white skirt with layers that shortened as they reached her waist; it fell to her knees.  A turquoise, thin-strapped, shirt hugged her torso, just a solid color, and it dipped in a v, though fashionably.  She quickly pulled on black flats before lifting her jacket from her bedpost and gathering her purse, where she stowed her wand.

 

She could hear Draco’s voice floating up the stairs, and she smiled, hurrying down.  She followed their voices into the kitchen where her parents were gathering their things.

 

“Oh, Hermione,” her mother cooed, causing Draco to turn, “You look lovely.”

 

But her mother’s voice softened as she watched her daughter stare at Draco, and she smiled.

 

“Come, George,” she murmured, motioning for her husband, “Let them have their moment.”

 

Her parents left, and Draco let out a breath he hadn’t known that he’d been holding when he heard the door close.

 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, though he smiled when she stepped into his arms, sighing into him, “I missed you.”

 

“You look happy,” she commented, not pulling away, “I love you.”

 

“I love you, Hermione,” he returned, turning her chin up so that he could kiss her, “Let’s not keep your parents waiting.”

 

She nodded, letting him lead the way, their fingers interlaced.  He was dressed in light jeans, a soft white button-up that he’d rolled the sleeves up, a black jacket, and black and white Converse.  She smiled at this, remembering the first time she’d noticed his casual attire, one of the first times they’d ever met.

 

Hermione’s parents insisted on driving to the Burrow as they were wary of apparation, and so the couple sat in the back of the car.  They stayed close, hands laced, and they chattered back and forth, making Hermione’s parents smile.  They discussed what books they’d read since they last saw one another in May, they talked of their upcoming year at Hogwarts, they discussed Draco’s mother and her recent reunion with her sister, Andromeda, and they talked all the way to the Burrow where they fell silent.

 

Hermione’s mother noted this, and, when she asked, Hermione sighed, “Mum, you remember me telling you about an arrogant, slimy, blonde boy from Slytherin?”

 

Her mother nodded, her face solemn, “That’s Draco.”

 

Draco smirked at this, and Hermione hit him on the arm, “Don’t be so pompous.  You were horrible when you were younger.”

 

“And you still fell for me,” he murmured, sneaking a kiss on her cheek before they started off.

 

When they reached the door, Hermione shocked her parents and Draco by simply opening the door rather than knocking and waiting.  They entered after her upon hearing someone give an exclamation of delight.

 

“I haven’t seen you in ages!” Ginny cried, hugging her tightly.

 

Draco looked around, and his father’s voice instantly crawled into his head, but he shoved it away hastily.  He noted how familial and warm this home was, and he smiled, glancing around at all the knickknacks and photos and _Ginny_.  She was standing in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest.

 

“I’m warning you, Malfoy, she better be right about you.”

 

Draco just nodded, though he couldn’t help arching an arrogant eyebrow at her.

 

“George, you know Draco.”

 

The tall redhead stood and extended his hand.

 

“Pleasure, mate,” he said softly, and Draco forced away a frown; the twin, once alive and jovial, was somber, a terrifying transformation.

 

“Likewise,” he returned before following a beckoning Hermione.

 

“Harry, you can’t just wave your wand and expect it to work!” Ron was shouting as they exited the living room and into the kitchen.

 

The two boys were nowhere to be seen, though Molly Weasley was busy bustling around the kitchen, a pretty blonde helping her.

 

“Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione greeted, pecking her on the cheek.

 

“Fleur, be a dear, watch the sauce,” Molly murmured before turning and enveloping Hermione in a large hug, “Dear, you look lovely.  Jean, George, so good to see you.”

 

She greeted each of them with a hug before turning to Draco, and her smile was still warm.

 

“Thank you for coming,” she said, and he was surprised as she embraced him.

 

He returned the affection, smiling down at her.

 

“Bloody tall all these boys are,” she muttered as she returned to her cooking, “Hermione, the boys are in the back, though it sounds like they could use your help.”

 

“ _Harry_!” Ron hollered, and Hermione laughed, waiting for Draco to join her before she went outside.

 

Her mother stayed behind to chat with and help Molly, though her father exited with them, instantly going over to Arthur, who greeted him enthusiastically.

 

“I don’t know how they ever manage without you,” Draco laughed, placing his hand on the small of Hermione’s back as they walked over.

 

“Honestly, I don’t either,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes.

 

Ron was tangled in ropes, covered in dirt, and Harry had collapsed against the table, laughter shaking through him.

 

“If you’d hold still,” Harry panted as his friend glared at him, “I can untangle you.”

 

“Last time you bloody tried that, there was dirt everywhere!”

 

Harry fell into another bought of hearty laughter, though Ron’s face brightened when he saw Hermione.

 

“’Mione,” he whined, “Help me.”

 

Hermione quickly undid him, rolling her eyes.  She went to hug the boys hello before turning to Draco, and she frowned at his uneasiness.

 

“Draco,” Harry was the first to speak, extending his hand, “Good to have you here.  I saw the Prophet the other day.  Your father seems to be doing well again.”

 

Draco was almost shocked into silence, but he quickly regained himself, shaking Harry’s hand and responding, “Thankfully, yes.  I’ll be going to work for him next year, when we graduate.”

 

“It’s a strictly magic-related business, right?” Harry asked, and their hands dropped away.

 

Draco nodded, “Closely affiliated to the Ministry at the moment, though that can’t be helped.  Are you still going to train to be an Auror?”

 

“Of course.  _Ronald_.”

 

“Malfoy,” Ron mumbled, nodding at him.

 

Draco returned the nod, “Thank you, Ron.”

 

Ron seemed confused, and Draco elaborated, “For not hexing me the moment you saw me.  It makes it a tad easier.”

 

Ron grunted, and Hermione sighed, “What were you two trying to do?”

 

“Oh, nothing,” Harry shrugged, “He was muttering on and on about how much he hated setting the table, so I tied him up to do it myself.”

 

Hermione laughed at this; typical Harry.

 

“Draco,” Arthur said, walking around the table, and he absorbed Draco’s attention as Harry went back to setting the table, Ron begrudgingly following him.

 

Hermione helped, and it was only when they were toward the other end of the table that Hermione looked to Harry.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he just smiled.

 

“He loves you,” Harry said, shrugging and straightening, “That much is obvious.  Hermione, you’re my best friend,” he reminded, “As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

 

“You always were too wonderful for your own good,” she laughed, shaking her head, “I don’t know how you do it.”

 

“Hermione,” he tsked, “You accepted him, of all people.  It’s the least I can do.  _Ronald_ , on the other hand, we’ll have to work on.”

 

“He’s a slimy git,” Ron said darkly, “And I don’t like him one bit.  I’m sorry, ‘Mione, but I just don’t understand it.”

 

“Half the time, I don’t either, but he makes me happy.”

 

She glanced over at Draco, and, as if he felt her gaze on him, he averted his eyes to smile at her before returning his attention to Arthur.  She’d never felt so lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.


	14. xiv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione couldn’t help but smile. Watching Draco grow as a cold, closed off person his entire life, she never would have expected to find such a caring mother in such a warm home. It surprised her, and she almost didn’t believe it.

_xiv._

_All the spotlights streaming into angry skies_

_Means there’s no one watching as we leave_

_August fifteenth._

_1998._

Hermione arrived at the Manor on Saturday, and she was shocked when she reached a hand up to ring the doorbell and Narcissa Malfoy opened it.

 

The Manor itself was terrifyingly large, and, when she’d apparated to the apparition point a little ways away from the gates, she couldn’t help but gulp.  Last time she’d been brought before the looming black mansion, she’d left with her arm bleeding and her body too weak to even stand by herself.  At this thought, she touched her arm as the skin burned.  A faint scar still lingered on her arm, faint enough that it couldn’t be caught at first glance, but that, upon closer inspection, one could just make out the word.  _Mudblood_.

 

Hermione shook her head, walking toward the black gates.

 

_“Don’t touch the gates, whatever you do.  I’ll have my father lift the charms at three o’clock.  If you’re late, I’ll come down.”_

She stared at the gates, wondering.  She’d tried to ask Draco more, but he just shook his head.  She checked her watch, three o’clock exactly, and she apparated to the other side of the gate.  When she reached the door, she looked at her watch again: three oh one; the charms would be back.

 

She brought her finger to the doorbell and waited while a chime rang through the house.  And, when the black wooden door opened, Hermione’s eyes went wide at the sight of Narcissa, Draco’s mother.

 

“Mrs. Malfoy,” she stammered, trying to smile, but she could see recognition dawning on her, could see the memory unraveling in her mind.

 

“You must be Hermione,” she brought herself out of her trance, and Hermione marveled at her sudden transformation, one she’d seen Draco do countless times.

 

Though, while Draco could go ice cold, his mother put on a charming smile.

 

“Come in, dear.  We can get you settled in.  Lucius and I are leaving tomorrow after breakfast,” she said as she clicked inside, Hermione following her.

 

Narcissa was beautiful, in a very elegant way, with black and blonde curls that she pulled out of her face in a neat bun, long pale legs complimented by black heels and a flowing black dress that fell to her knees.  The dress dipped around her breasts fashionably and her shoulders were bare save for two thin straps, accentuating the silver necklace adorned with a single diamond and her soft, rounded shoulders.

 

They went past a room that was gorgeously furnished, but a memory flashed before Hermione’s eyes and she shuddered, quickly looking away.  Narcissa saw the glance, and her features saddened dramatically.

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” she whispered, “I wish I had known how to stand up to my sister.”

 

Hermione watched the same memory play in Narcissa’s eyes, but it wasn’t this that made her falter.

 

“I guess I only truly understood what she was doing when she turned her wand on Draco.”

 

“What?” Hermione gasped.

 

Narcissa nodded, bringing her through the opening hallway and into a large foyer where a wide, grand staircase was built against the wall.

 

“After you disapparated, she attacked Draco.  Lucius held me away, made me watch as she slowly killed my baby.”

 

“She used the… Cruciatus,” she said it slowly, grimacing, “Curse on him?  How did you get to him?”

 

They’d reached the top of the stairs, which opened to a long hallway.

 

“I think when Draco stopped moving and screaming, it shocked Lucius and he let me go.  Bella was never allowed in the Manor afterward without Rudolphus.  He was the only one that could ever get through to her.  This is Draco’s room.  Did you charm everything into your purse?”

 

Hermione nodded, looking around at the spacious room they’d just entered.

 

“You can leave it in here, and I’ll take you around the rest of the house.”

 

Hermione left her purse on his large bed, which was only a few feet from the door.  The room was lit by the sunshine streaming in through white curtains pulled back to reveal a wide bay window with a small windowsill seat.  There was a beautiful wooden desk next to the window, a long walk-in closet on the wall by the door; there was even a comfortable-looking couch near the window.

 

Narcissa led her farther down the hall, motioning to a door diagonal from Draco’s bedroom.

 

“That’s the bathroom, and that’s mine and Lucius’ bedroom,” she said, pointing down the hall to a closed door, “Everything is here that you’ll need, and the elves will replace anything that runs out.”

 

She opened the bathroom door, and Hermione’s eyes widened at the large white room.  There was a standing shower with glass doors, a toilet, and a wide sink with a countertop-long mirror with dressing room lights, and a porcelain clawed bathtub.

 

Narcissa clicked back down the hall, Hermione following her.

 

“So, Draco never told us much about your home life, Hermione.  Do you live near London?” she asked pleasantly as they descended the stairs into the foyer.

 

“Somewhat.  It’s about a half hour drive.”

 

“He said your parents were dentists.  They work with people’s teeth, yes?”

 

“They do.”

 

“I’d like to meet them someday.  Maybe over winter break,” she said with a soft smile, leading Hermione back into the front hallway before going into the living room.

 

“Er, Mrs. Malfoy,” she began uncomfortably, but Narcissa waved her away.

 

“I know, dear.  You’ll have to forgive Lucius.  He isn’t used to the idea yet, of both you and there being not much to do with blood statuses anymore, but I can assure you that I do not think quite the same as my husband.  I hope this room will not bring fear to you while you are here,” she finished as she showed her the living room.

 

It was furnished with black leather and dark wood, and the walls were a rich red, though it looked different from the last time she’d seen it.

 

“We renovated many of the rooms you’ll come across in June and July in an effort to make this a home again.”

 

“It’s beautiful, Mrs. Malfoy.  It really is.”

 

“Call me Narcissa, love.  Come, I’ll show you Draco’s favorite room.”

 

“Where is Draco?” she wondered aloud as Narcissa led her out of the living room and down a short hallway that opened to another room.

 

Hermione smiled; of course this was his favorite.

 

“He had to run out with his father to run a few errands.  Draco decorated this room himself just a few years ago.”

 

Bookshelves were built into the walls, though the opposite wall of the door was bare save for a wide, unlit fireplace.  Four couches, soft and inviting, two black and two a deep, emerald green, were spread about the room.  Two wooden tables, rectangular, sat on opposite sides of the room.  One had been used recently and was scattered with open textbooks, parchment, a quill, and a capped bottle of ink, and Hermione smile.  She could almost imagine Draco pouring over his books and his homework in here.  Narcissa pulled her from her thoughts, though, as she moved to close the door.

 

“We put charms on it when the Dark Lord took over the Manor so that it was hidden.”

 

“What charm?” Hermione asked curiously, following her back through the hallway and into the living room again.

 

“The Fidelus, actually.  Draco was the Secret Keeper.  Yes,” she answered Hermione’s unanswered question, “The same charm that the Potter’s used when they went into hiding in Godric’s Hollow.”

 

Hermione found it strange that she talked so easily of those she’d been raised to hate, but then a thought struck her.

 

“Narcissa,” she began, the name unfamiliar on her tongue, “Were the Black’s and Potter’s friends?”

 

“Oh, quite, dear,” she smiled, leading her down the front hallway and into another room, the kitchen, “The Black’s may have been Ancient and Noble,” she sighed, “but the Potter’s held just as much influence over the wizarding world, and they were quite good friends.  I remember when I used to visit and James was frequently there because Orion dared not lay a hand on Sirius while a Potter was in the house.  Their hatred of one another only blossomed with Harry, though it wouldn’t have had the Dark Lord not caught wind of the prophecy.”

 

Hermione nodded; it made sense.

 

“This is my kitchen.  Don’t let Draco fool you into thinking that I don’t cook for him.  He’s just always terribly hungry, and I’m only one woman.  The elves are darlings, though, as you’ll come to find.  They love to help in the kitchen.”

 

It was extremely big, and Hermione felt intimidated just by the sheer size of it.  They went straight through the kitchen and through the open doorway into the dining room where a very, very long table and many chairs sat.

 

“Do you often hold parties here?  It seems like such a perfect place,” Hermione commented.

 

“Oh, quite.  The foyer is wonderful for that, and, well, the Black’s are a very large family, and so we used to gather here every year for Christmas.  That was, until, my parents and Sirius’ parents passed away.  We haven’t been together since their deaths.”

 

Hermione noted a hint of sadness in her voice, and, in a very bold and affectionate movement, she touched Narcissa’s arm.

 

“Maybe someday, now that things are different,” she murmured, and Narcissa’s face lit up, a wide, genuine smile.

 

“I’m starting to see why Draco has fallen so hard for you, love.  You’re very charming.”

 

“Thank you,” she said bashfully, drawing her hand back.

 

“Just wait until you see the backyard,” Narcissa continued, and Hermione smiled; it was if she’d said the exact right thing to be truly welcomed into Narcissa’s heart.

 

She followed this enigma of a woman through the dining room, through an open doorway again, and they went down a small hall.

 

“There’s a smaller bathroom through that door,” Narcissa said, motioning toward a single door in the hallway before it was suddenly cut off, and they stepped out into the sunshine.

 

Hermione nearly gasped as the delicate and exquisite sunroom that they came upon.  A small porch wrapped around the back of the house, though the sunroom didn’t end there.  Stairs descended into luscious grass where white chairs were scattered about grouped in threes, though Hermione stared at the glass walls, curious.

 

“You can walk through them,” Narcissa said with a little wink, “My little invention.”

 

Beyond the sunroom was an extensive backyard, one that Hermione knew she would be spending much of her time wandering about.  It was empty, though, save for a white gazebo in the distance.

 

“Narcissa, your house is absolutely beautiful,” she said, looking over at the smiling woman.

 

“I’m glad you like it.  Now, breakfast is at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.  I’d like if you and Draco joined Lucius and I,” she began, ushering Hermione off back into the house, “I trust you know how to cook?”

 

When Hermione nodded, she continued, “I’ve left Draco with some money for the week, though there’s always Gringotts.  Don’t you fret,” she added at Hermione’s distraught look, “Dear, you’re dating a Malfoy.”

 

Hermione laughed softly, and she watched as Narcissa went to fix them a pitcher of lemonade.

 

“Do you like grapefruit?” she asked, turning only slightly.

 

“I do, actually.”

 

“The boys should be home soon enough.  Have you met Pansy and Blaise yet?”

 

“Technically,” Hermione offered uncertainly, “I mean, I know who they are, but I haven’t formerly met them yet.”

 

“Oh, that just won’t do.  Lucius and I will be returning a day before you leave.  Would you like to spend a day out with Pansy and I?  Just a little girls’ day, and I’ll owl my sister.”

 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile.  Watching Draco grow as a cold, closed off person his entire life, she never would have expected to find such a caring mother in such a warm home.  It surprised her, and she almost didn’t believe it.

 

“That sounds wonderful, really.  I’m just afraid that, well…” she trailed off, sighing.

 

“I know.  Gryffindors and Slytherins don’t mix well, but you’ve created history, Hermione.  Will you two be going public next year?”

 

“I think it only right.  We’ve told my friends, and I know he wanted me to meet his, so I assume so,” she said, following Narcissa back into the sunroom where she let her levitating pitcher, glasses, and grapefruit sit on a white table on the porch.

 

Hermione sat opposite her, and Narcissa tsked to herself before murmuring, “ _Accio spoons_.”

 

Two spoons zipped out of the house, and one dropped in front of Hermione.  They continued their conversation, only quieting when they paused to spoon a piece of grapefruit into their mouths, and Hermione was fast finding that she quite liked the charming Narcissa Malfoy.  Though, pushing at the back of her mind was Lucius, a figure whom she’d seen on numerous occasions, and one that caused her to gulp in fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> I really quite like Narcissa, :) I know her character is very OOC, but I’ve always pictured her to be a rather charming, adorable woman. So, I hope that my characterization of her doesn’t throw you off; I just, well, I wanted to paint her the way I see her.
> 
> Also, I love one-scene chapters. They’re so much fun to write.


	15. xv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She missed the cool feel of his lips almost immediately, though she smiled contently as she felt his nose brush her chin, nudging her head back. He left wet butterfly kisses over her neck, warming Hermione to her very core.

_xv._

_Say the first thing that_

_Comes into your head when you see me_

Draco stepped out of the fireplace with ease; he was no stranger to the Floo Network.

 

“Did mum say she was going out?” he asked as his father stepped out behind him.

 

He heard a familiar laugh, and his heart sunk.  He hurried away before Lucius could respond, and he was about to jump to Hermione’s aid when he noticed that she had genuinely laughed.  The two women were very clearly enjoying one another’s company quite a bit.

 

“Oh, Draco!” his mother exclaimed, and he smiled as he watched Hermione quickly turn in her seat.

 

He lost his composure for a moment as he saw her beautiful, excited face, and it still surprised him sometimes that she could do this to him, break him down faster than anyone.  She looked torn between leaping over to him and remaining politely by Narcissa’s side, and so he eased her dilemma, going over to her with a smile.

 

“I hope you’re being charming, mother,” he murmured before placing a light kiss on Hermione’s cheek.

 

“Charming,” Narcissa laughed, “Of course, darling.  Where’s your father?”

 

“Putting your things upstairs.  Has she given you a tour?” he added to Hermione.

 

When she nodded, he held out a hand.

 

“Mother, would you mind if I stole Hermione away?”

 

“Go ahead, dear.  I should start on dinner anyway.  Hermione, a pleasure.”

 

“Likewise,” Hermione smiled, “Thank you.”

 

Draco led her away after that, entirely shocked at how quickly she’d found her way to his mother.

 

“How did you manage that?” he wondered as he closed the door to his bedroom.

 

“I’m not sure honestly.  She took to me almost instantly, and then I must have said something, and she just opened right up.  Where were you?”

 

“My father needed to settle some last minute things and pick up a few requested items for my mother.  He asked me to come along.”

 

He cut Hermione off before she could respond, however, bringing his lips to hers in a soft, lingering kiss.  Hermione sighed into him, and he groaned as she brought her fingers through his white blonde hair.  It changed there, in an instant, and their movements turned frantic and lustful.  Draco touched his tongue to Hermione’s bottom lip, requesting entrance, and she slowly allowed him, a tremble running through her, tingling her fingers and toes, sending her stomach bouncing in flutters, and setting her heart beating fast and hard.  She felt faint, and Draco suddenly drew back, sucking in a long breath.

 

She missed the cool feel of his lips almost immediately, though she smiled contently as she felt his nose brush her chin, nudging her head back.  He left wet butterfly kisses over her neck, warming Hermione to her very core.

 

“Draco,” she whispered, and his mouth was back on hers instantly, hungry and softly demanding.

 

She kissed him back passionately, drawing herself closer to him, and she let one of her hands rake through his hair, her finger turning circles on the nape of his neck, tickling the feather-soft hair.  He moaned into her mouth, and she responded with a sigh, molding against him as he dipped his hands underneath her shirt, pressing against her lower back, fingers flexing on her skin, tightening in want.

 

She continued her circles until Draco suddenly broke away, one hand flying back to snatch her wrist up.

 

“You’re driving me insane,” he gasped, forehead falling against hers and grey eyes slipping shut as he dropped her wrist back to his shoulder, “I only have so much self control, Hermione.”

 

She smiled at this, leaning up to kiss his swollen lips softly.

 

“I love you,” she whispered, and his beam was wide.

 

“I love you, too,” he returned before kissing her nose and stepping back, “I’m going to run to the bathroom.  I’ll be right back.”

 

He left her with a peck on the cheek, and Hermione distantly heard the sink run as she went to sit on Draco’s bed.  Blood flushed in her cheeks, making them rosy, and her heart refused to slow.

 

Draco returned after a few minutes to find Hermione perusing his bookshelf.

 

“Dinner is in an hour,” he informed, going over to her, slipping his arms around her, and resting his chin on her shoulder.

 

They stayed there a while before Hermione finally got the courage to speak, “Draco,” she whispered, meshing her fingers with his, “I’m not a virgin.”

 

Draco blinked.

 

The thought, the possibility had never before crossed his mind.  She was _Hermione_ ; he’d always pictured her as pure.

 

“We didn’t date long,” she explained, “Just two summers.  But it was before my sixth year.  I knew things were changing, I knew I had to let him go, and I knew that I wouldn’t be returning the next summer.  I thought I loved him, and I wanted him to know before I never saw him again.  I just wanted you to know,” she added softly.

 

He sighed, releasing her.

 

“Hermione,” he murmured as she turned, “I love you.  Nothing will change that.  And besides,” he shrugged, “I’m not either.”

 

She laughed, “I know _that_.”

 

She pushed him lightly and he feigned hurt.

 

“Oh, _do_ you?” he return, pulling her into his arms and smiling down at her, “And where did you hear such a thing?”

 

“Pansy practically screamed it to my Defense class fifth year.”

 

He’d forgotten about that.  He scowled, and she shook her head.  She kissed him again softly, and they spent the next hour lounging on his bed, Hermione wrapped in Draco’s arms, and these were comfortable, just chatting softly and enjoying the touch, the presence, the feel of one another, so close.

 

They descended the large foyer stairs at seven, and a warm smell wafted in from the kitchen that made Hermione hum hungrily.  Draco laughed at her, squeezing her hand.  It was, however, as they approached the kitchen that he stopped her.

 

“My father,” he began, cupping her face, “Don’t let him get to you.  Be strong, okay?”

 

“I’m a big girl, Draco.  I can take care of myself,” she promised, smiling, and he just leaned forward to kiss her temple before taking her hand again and leading her through the kitchen where Narcissa was humming a lullaby to herself and into the dining room.

 

They sat next to one another, on Lucius’ left, though Draco was quick to take the seat closest to his father after chivalrously pulling out Hermione’s.  Narcissa entered with a line of house elves behind her, each carrying something, and Hermione smiled as she set down the food.

 

A large bowl came first with red-skin potatoes cut in fours, sautéed mushrooms, thick squares of green cabbage, and delicious-looking salmon.  Next was a pan of ratatouille, filled with garlic, onions, zucchini, eggplant, green bell peppers, carrots, basil, and thyme.  Finally came a bowl of mixed fruits, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, apple slices, red and green grapes, and tangerines.  Hermione could barely believe her eyes.

 

Dinner went on smoothly.  Narcissa and Draco carried most off the conversation while Lucius ate in silence, occasionally glancing over at Hermione.  His expression was blank mostly, though Hermione felt greatly intimidated by him.  While it was no longer out of fear, she wanted Draco’s parents to accept her.  Elves cleaned away the table when they’d finished while another brought out banana and chocolate crêpes.  By eight thirty, Draco was retreating into his study, Hermione at his side.

 

“Your father hates me,” Hermione whispered as Draco closed the door.

 

“If he hated you, he would have made it known.  He’s just uncomfortable.”

 

“Then why is your mother so accepting?”

 

“Hermione, it’s difficult,” he sighed, “When my Aunt Andromeda welcomed her sister back into her heart, it opened her.  Trust me, the only memories I have of my mother being like this was long, long ago, before Hogwarts.  She started to slip away when I was twelve.  It’s good to have her back, though.  Did you,” he paused, frowning and looking away from her, “Did you mention Andromeda earlier?”

 

Hermione nodded instantly, thinking back to the change in Narcissa’s face she’d noticed.

 

“That’s why she likes you because you acknowledged their relationship, and I’m sure you said something else along those lines.”

 

“She was saying how she missed having family dinners in the dining room.  I said that maybe it could happen again someday now that things are different.”

 

They were standing a few feet apart, something that bothered Hermione immensely.  She watched Draco closely, trying to read his expression, but his walls were up, hiding his heart.  He flicked his grey eyes up as she spoke, though, and, try as she might, she couldn’t read his eyes, either.  He smiled in response, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and he was still guarded.

 

“Will you read to me?” she asked after a moment of silence.

 

He nodded, and he was by her side in a flash, slipping his hand through hers and leading her along the walls.  He seemed to be searching for something in particular and, when he stopped with a soft noise, Hermione smiled.  She hadn’t read it.

 

“ _The God of Small Things_ by Arundhati Roy,” he recited, showing her the cover, “It was just published in June.  I’ve already read it once, though it’s quite good, and I think you’ll like it.  It’s nothing like _Atonement_ , though, and it certainly isn’t a romance like that is.”

 

“It’ll be a nice change,” Hermione murmured, pulling him toward one of the couches.

 

He just smiled, and, this time, every ounce of joy backed it.

 

\--

 

_August eighteenth._

_1998._

Thunder rumbled angrily behind the black clouds as rain fell in torrents around the running couple.  Hermione yelped, nearly falling, but Draco quickly caught her elbow and pulled her back up, and they finally reached the sun room, bursting through the glass walls.  They hurried away as lighting cracked the sky, lighting up the darkened world around them.  Draco quickly pulled her toward the porch, and they hurried inside.

 

“ _Why_ didn’t we apparate?” Hermione scoffed as they quickly went down the hallway and into the dining room.

 

“You can’t apparate within these walls.  It’s like Hogwarts.  You were the one who said the _black_ clouds were fine.”

 

“It was just a little thunder!” Hermione exclaimed, hitting him as he smiled over his shoulder at her.

 

They reached the kitchen, skirted through it, and jogged up the stairs toward Draco’s room, sopping wet.

 

“Thunder, yea,” he laughed, “And then, _out of nowhere_ ,” he mocked, “we were being drowned.”

 

“Okay, it totally just started raining like that _all of a sudden_ ,” she shot back, “It wasn’t like that before.”

 

“You know I love you, right?” he chuckled, opening his door, “I’m taking a shower.  I’m freezing now thanks to all that running in the rain.”

 

“Oh, please,” Hermione rolled her eyes, following him inside, “It wasn’t that bad.  It was actually kind of run,” she added, dropping her shoes by the door.

 

Hermione looked up, but stopped in her tracks as Draco tugged his shirt off, his back to her.  He went to his dresser to find a change of clothes, dropping the wet shirt on the floor next to it.  She stared at him, soaking in the clearly defined muscles that moved as he searched, the pale, softest-looking skin that she could let her eyes rake down to the waist of his jeans, which hung low on his hips, pulled toward the ground because of how wet they were.

 

“Hermione,” his voice suddenly cut through her gaze, and she shook her head, blushing furiously.

 

Draco’s infamous smirk lit up his face as he curled a finger under her chin, lifting her face, and his lips met hers in a rather forceful and heated kiss.  Hermione slipped her arms around his waist, relishing in the feel of his smooth and bare back under her fingertips, and she brought them together lustfully.

 

He drank her in, tongue dancing against hers as she opened to him, and Hermione moaned as his hands travelled up her back, exploring and touching softly.  He let his fingers slip under the clasp of her bra, and Hermione pulled back, waiting for his eyes to open.  They were dark, the ghostly feel of them gone, and his chest rose and fell quickly, and Hermione nodded, crashing her lips against his again.

 

She gasped a little as the clasp snapped, dangling uselessly, and Draco separated from her, hands flying to the hem of her shirt.  He pulled it off, slipped the straps down off her shoulders, and Hermione moaned again as their bodies met, soft on soft, skin on skin.

 

“Draco,” she murmured, heart racing, “Draco, I want this.”

 

She let out a noise of surprise as he bent and swept her off her feet, bringing her to the bed.  He crawled after her, lips trailing over her bare stomach, the small dip between her breasts, up her neck, and finally he met her waiting mouth, his hips locking against hers, and Hermione wanted nothing more but to feel all of him, to show him all of her.

 

“Draco,” she gasped, and he smiled against her neck before pushing himself up onto his knees, separated on either side of her, and he undid the button on her shorts, looking once up at her.

 

She nodded, smiled, and they loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.


	16. xvi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a deep breath, she went around the last shelf, down the length of it, and erupted into the mouth of a private alcove, a haven of warm light and whispered words. At her arrival, a pair of grey eyes snapped up to meet her, and Draco smiled from their couch, holding out his arm to her.

_xvi._

_If it looks like it works and it feels like it works_

_Then it works_

Hermione smiled.

 

Her fingers traced soft and soothing circles around Draco’s chest, bare except for the brush of the blankets.  His skin was a porcelain color and unmarked by scars, freckles, or anything.  She loved to be lying so close to him, to be so attune to him.  He smiled, squirming a little when her fingers ghosted too lightly and tickled him.  He let out a noise of protest and turned into her, bringing her against him as his arms wrapped tighter around her.

 

“Stop tickling me,” he whispered, his breath grazing her ear, and she meshed her legs with his, relishing in the delicate touch of his skin.

 

“You never showered,” she murmured after a few minutes, and he just sighed, pressing his lips to her neck.

 

“Will you come with me?  I promise to be good.”

 

“In a few minutes.”

 

They lay there in silence, wrapped together, and breathing slow.  It was an hour before Draco stirred, shaking the both of them from a light sleep.

 

“I really have to shower.  I feel gross from that mud and rain and—”

 

Hermione swiftly cut him off with a kiss, drinking him in, and he fell into her temptation, sighing against her, and it was another hour before they made their way to the bathroom, Draco in boxers and Hermione in one of his button-ups.  And, as she waited for him to go in, it struck her that it would be incredibly hard to live without him.

 

\--

 

_September first._

_1998._

Hermione fidgeted, frowning.  Her trunk lay behind her and she was surrounded by four Weasley’s and Harry.  Ginny was closest to her, though she was chattering away about something that Hermione couldn’t bring herself to pay attention to.  Her hand was tightly wound with Harry’s, who was arguing back and forth with Ron about the upcoming Quidditch year.  They’d be going back, by the request of McGonagall, for the seventh year they’d never started along with quite a few of their classmates.  Ginny sighed heavily, catching Hermione’s attention.

 

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, recognizing the annoyed look on her friend’s face, “I’m just nervous.”

 

“I know you are.  I honestly can’t believe you guys didn’t talk about it, though.  I mean, you had to remember that you were coming back this year.”

 

“Yes, well, I know,” Hermione huffed, “But it didn’t occur to me that we’d be going back and that no one knew.  After I told you guys, it didn’t seem so monumental anymore, all that had happened, I mean.  I completely forgot about the school and everything we would have to go through.”

 

“Well, you’ve only really got three options.”

 

“Three?”

 

“Yea,” Ginny shrugged, “Just _do it_ and don’t worry about what anyone says, hide it again, or slowly break it to them.”

 

“We’re not going to hide.  We can’t.  Not again, not after everything.”

 

“And I’m assuming slowly is out of the question.”

 

Hermione sighed, “We’ve already done that.”

 

“But in secrecy.”

 

The voice wasn’t Ginny’s, and Hermione spun as she felt a soft, cold hand slide within her warm fingers.

 

“Draco!” she gasped, trying to wriggle free of his hand, but he was firm.

 

“We’re not hiding anymore,” he whispered, pressing a light kiss to her cheek, “I want to show you off.  If you’re okay with that,” he added, noting that Harry and Ron had stopped talking and were watching them intently.

 

They hadn’t shown any affection toward one another at the dinner at the Burrow, and so this would be their first display as a couple.

 

“Are we just going to jump right in?  Headfirst?” she questioned, already feeling the stares of her peers on her; she felt uncomfortable, and she didn’t like being the object of their attention.

 

“Just say the word, and I’ll stop,” Draco whispered, his head tilted toward hers.

 

When their lips met in a chaste, soft kiss, it didn’t matter what anyone thought, what anyone would say; all that mattered was this moment, being so in love with this man.  Draco left her wanting more, and she smiled up at him.

 

“Headfirst,” she said, more sure this time, “Just stay by me.”

 

“Of course.”

 

At this, he released her hand and slid an arm around her waist, drawing her in close to him.  She wasn’t quite sure what to make of this situation; all she knew was that it felt right to be like this with him.

 

\--

 

_September seventh._

_1998._

The feast had passed uneventfully, and the days following didn’t spark anymore gossip than the scene at the train had.  Their first class was the Monday following their arrival, when the real drama unfolded.

 

“I have essentially the same schedule as you,” Draco informed as he fell into step next to Hermione as she walked away from the Great Hall after breakfast, “And essentially the same schedule as last year, though harder.”

 

“Oh?  What do you have today?” she asked, watching him easily lift a slip of paper out of his bag.

 

“Double Potions from nine to eleven and Charms from four to five thirty.  Tomorrow I’ve got Defense from nine to ten thirty and Transfiguration from one to two thirty.”

 

“Did you do that on purpose?” she scoffed, nudging him and rolling her eyes.

 

“Of course I did,” he laughed, tucking the paper away before lacing his fingers with hers, “Do you know what Potter and Weasley have?”

 

“They have Potions and Defense with us, but their Charms and Transfiguration are switched.  We can even fit in time for the library,” she finished in a soft voice, and his beam was instantaneous.

 

“I’d like that.  I need to pick a book for you.  Can we start next week?”

 

“Of course.  Did you notice that _everyone_ is staring?”

 

“Considering this is the first time they’ve seen us together since the train, you ought to expect it.”

 

“Are you sitting with me in Potions?”

 

“I’d like to, if that’s alright.  Unless, of course, Slughorn decides to pair us into threes, and then I assume you’ll be with the boys.”

 

“Probably, but you’ve got Blaise and Pansy.  Seriously, I think my back is going to have holes in it by the time we get to class.”

 

“Just ignore them,” he whispered, leaning down to ghost her neck with a kiss.

 

She blushed, tightening her hold on his hand before turning down a hall.  Their day continued on similarly, and it was only at lunch that Hermione finally was touched by the reality of what they’d done.

 

“Hermione Granger,” a voice huffed disbelievingly, and they were suddenly surrounded by a gaggle of girls, “Are you really dating Draco Malfoy?  What the hell kind of move was that?”

 

“Excuse me?” Hermione laughed, arching an eyebrow at one of their fellow seventh years.

 

“You’ve totally betrayed us, dating a _Slytherin_ ,” she practically spat the word.

 

“Oh please,” Ginny scoffed, “It doesn’t matter what house we’re in.  The war is over, Voldemort is dead.  Put your petty hatred behind you.”

 

A collective gasp fell from their lips at his name, and Harry rolled his eyes.

 

“He’s a _Malfoy_ , Hermione,” Lavender Brown interrupted, sticking her head out to look down the table, “They’re so horrible.”

 

“Look, I know what the Malfoy’s have done in the past, but things are different now.  Draco isn’t like them.”

 

“Oh, _Draco_?”

 

“Lavender, shut up.  Why should this even concern you guys?”

 

But the girls were already standing and leaving.  Hermione frowned, and Harry looked up once they were out of earshot.

 

“Just ignore them, ‘Mione.  It’s going to be tough for a while, but, I mean, if he’s worth it, then you shouldn’t worry too much.”

 

“He _is_ worth it.”

 

“Hermione,” Ginny started delicately, “You never really did tell us how all this happened.”

 

“Really?”

 

When the two boys nodded, Hermione sighed, “I’ll tell you tonight in the common room, okay?”

 

“Is it weird not being Head Girl?” Harry asked after a few minutes.

 

“Kind of, but also not really.  I think it was rather nice of McGonagall not to ask me to.  After all we’ve been through, it will be nice to just enjoy the year.  Guys, really quick, do you mind if Draco sits with us?”

 

“I can leave if it’s inconvenient,” the blonde replied softly as he stopped behind Hermione.

 

Harry motioned for him to sit down, and, as he did so, he slipped a book out of his bag, handing it to Hermione.

 

“Read the back,” he said, waving a hand at it, “I saw you booked the slot for one o’clock on Saturday,” he added to Harry, “We’re holding try-outs next weekend.”

 

“You managed to get the captain position back?” Harry returned.

 

“Yea, thankfully.  Blaise will be closely related to everything, but it’ll be nice to be back into the game and such.  Are you still going for keeper, Ron?”

 

Hermione had barely finished the first line when he addressed their friend, and she carefully peered over the back of the book to stare at Ron.  He looked flustered at being spoken to, especially by his first name.

 

“Er, yea, I hope to.  And you’ll be seeker, obviously?”

 

“Mhm,” Draco murmured, turning his gaze back to Hermione, “Well?”

 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, quickly reading over the back, “Is this by…” she trailed off, flipping the book.

 

“Ian McEwan?  Yea, he wrote it before _Atonement_ , but I thought you’d like it.  I know I said a week, but I happened to stumble upon it.”

 

“You really were him,” Harry suddenly said, peering strangely at Draco.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Hermione wrote a song for you while we were away, when we stayed at Grimmauld Place, and she always used to carry that book, _Atonement_ , around.  You were him, the one that she’d left behind.  What did it?  What really happened, Hermione?  I mean, I know you told Mrs. Weasley, but I’ve never heard it straight from you.”

 

Harry hadn’t breached the subject of that day in Draco’s living room, that one glance that spoke of months in secrecy; he had never truly asked, hadn’t shown Hermione his interest in everything.

 

She sighed, smiling, “He kept finding me in rather bad moods and asking me if I was okay.  The first time was outside of Potions that day you two saw him in front of me, after I’d left during one of our fights; the second time was in the library, and the third was when I almost fell over tying my shoe.  It was weird.  I didn’t really understand why he cared so much.”

 

“Trust me, neither did I,” Draco laughed, “You just looked so hurt all the time, so empty.  You looked like you needed a steadying hand, just a moment to breathe.  And then you found me sleeping that time in the library, and we got to talking about Lee and Shakespeare.”

 

“I couldn’t believe that you actually spared a moment for Muggle books.  Naturally, I wanted to introduce you to more, so I left you a note in _Beowulf_ , told you I’d enjoyed our conversation but that I didn’t understand why now.”

 

“And then you found me sleeping again, nearly a week and a half after you left me _Beowulf_.  You’d told me about Tolkien by then, but you didn’t think we should meet on a regular basis.  But you stayed, even though I was there, and then I woke up and noticed you sitting in the corner, and you wanted to know what I was reading.”

 

“ _Atonement_ ,” Hermione shook her head, “You wanted to read it to me, and I was so stubborn.  And it just went from there.  It was… it was natural.”

 

“So, it was literature?” Ginny laughed, disbelieving, “You two started becoming friends because you were interested in the same _books_?  Hermione, you’re so typical.”

 

“But what about everything we were doing?  What about everything you were jeopardizing?  What if he had just been playing you?” Ron interrupted, angry.

 

“We didn’t speak about anything like that, Ronald,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “I didn’t talk about Harry, and he didn’t talk about Voldemort.  The only time we ever told each other anything was when we figured out he was using the Vanishing Cabinet and he knew that the Death Eaters were coming into Hogwarts.  Those were the only times.  Otherwise, it was just like a friendship progressing into something else.  But it was slow.”

 

“The first time you kissed me was the night I left,” Draco murmured, squeezing her hand, “And the next time I saw you was in my living room with my Aunt Bella.”

 

“And you tried to tell me,” Harry muttered, piecing everything together, “You tried to tell me everything.”

 

“I think you figured it out, but you didn’t want to admit it because it didn’t make sense at the time.”

 

“Sometimes, it still doesn’t.  It’s like,” Harry paused, searching for the right words, but Hermione was quick to fill them in.

 

“It’s like there’s two different people, Draco and Malfoy,” she said, nodding, “That’s exactly what conclusion I came to, and I think that’s what allowed me to accept him into my life.”

 

“I have to go.  Blaise is waving stupidly for me,” Draco suddenly murmured, touching Hermione’s cheek with a kiss before slipping away, his footfalls silent and his movements limited.

 

“I don’t get it.  He’s such a git,” Ron grumbled, shaking his head, “I honestly don’t know what you see in him, Hermione.”

 

“Ron,” she sighed, “I’m not asking you to love him, just give him a shot.  He means a lot to me.”

 

“He’s gonna change you.”

 

With that, Hermione swept up her things and left, shaking her head angrily.

 

\--

 

_September eleventh._

_1998._

Hermione stopped by Madame Pince’s desk as the librarian smiled over at her.  They talked for a few minutes, and Hermione answered her questions and gave her a small version of the larger story that she was sure would unfold throughout the days to come.  When she finally went back through the aisles, though, she felt her heart slow, and she stopped at the corner.  The last time she’d come here, she’d only found their book and a note touched with tears and a soft kiss.  The last time she’d come here, he was gone.

 

Taking a deep breath, she went around the last shelf, down the length of it, and erupted into the mouth of a private alcove, a haven of warm light and whispered words.  At her arrival, a pair of grey eyes snapped up to meet her, and Draco smiled from their couch, holding out his arm to her.

 

She dropped her bag by the couch, curled up against him, and smiled.

 

“Each afternoon1,” he began in a soft, whispering voice, one that Hermione had grown accustomed to and longed for, “when the whole city beyond the dark green shutters of their hotel windows began to stir, Colin and Mary were woken by the methodical chipping of steel tools against the iron barges which moored by the hotel café pontoon.  In the morning these rusting, pitted hulks, with no visible cargo or means of propulsion, would be gone; towards the end of each day they reappeared, and their crews set to inexplicably with their mallets and chisels.  It was at this time, in the clouded, late afternoon heat, that customers began to gather on the pontoon to eat ice cream at the tin tables, rising and falling in waves of laughter and dissent, flooding the brief silences between each piercing blow of the hammers.1”

 

And so it progressed, _The Comfort of Strangers_ , and Hermione slowly came to realize that nothing mattered beyond the comfort of Draco’s arms.  _No one_ mattered beyond the love that she felt for this man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel The Comfort of Strangers.
> 
> The Borders near me is going out of business, and so the whole store is on sale. Therefore, I was instantly drawn to McEwan’s section and got four books: “The Comfort of Strangers”, “The Cement Beach”, “First Love, Last Rites”, and “On Chesil Beach”. I’m very excited to read them, and I hope to read the rest of his once I finish these. Therefore, yes, they will be making an appearance throughout the rest of this novel, though I don’t think I’ll be quoting anything beside that opening excerpt that you’ve read because I feel that Atonement did its job and it would just be repetitive to quote anything else. So, that’s all, :)


	17. xvii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione laughed softly, snuggling into Draco’s warm embrace. They were in Tomes and Scrolls, and, up until then, they’d been separated by their lingering eyes and curious hands, by whispering words and fantastical stories. He held her from behind now, though, having snuck up to her, and he breathed her in, nose turned into her hair, eyes closed to her.

_xvii._

_With the sun on your face_

_All these worries will soon disappear_

_October tenth._

_1998._

 

Hermione stepped out of the shower and quickly reached for a towel to dry herself off.  After twisting her hair into a bun, she slipped into a pair of white lace panties and a matching bra followed by floral lace-like black tights.  Over that was a blue-tinted grey dress that brushed her knees with a soft yellow braided rope wrapped twice underneath her bust, a rope that separated the two patterns.  While the gathered layers of chiffon made up the bottom, the top was another floral pattern, the same blue-grey woven with lace and black, the straps thinning as they reached her shoulders.

 

Hermione let down her hair and dried it with a quick spell before waving her wand again to make it curl, and, when she finished, she lifted her light yellow cardigan off the counter, slipped it over her arms, and gathered her things before exiting.

 

Ginny let out a whistle to which Hermione rolled her eyes.  The redhead had on a pair of tight jeans complimented by a layered off-white shirt with soft pink floral designs touched with green leaves and the lightest pink flowers acting as a background.  Covering her shoulders was a simple dark grey cardigan.

 

“ _Someone_ looks hot,” Ginny commented, wiggling her eyebrows.

 

“Yea, I think she has red hair,” Hermione shot back, and the girls just laughed before going to put on their shoes.

 

While Ginny slipped on a pair of black moccasins, Hermione laced on her ever-faithful black and white hightops.  Ginny just laughed at her, and the two girls exited together, though they didn’t get halfway down the hall before a one Anna Flynn called out for them to wait.  She was a girl in Ginny’s year, one that the redhead had a few classes with and enjoyed hanging out with.

 

Curious, they stopped and chatted lightly until the brunette came running out of the room in small white flats.  She was wearing a loose, tan dress with a brown leather belt wrapped around her middle that only touched her mid-thigh, and so light, quite ripped jeans fit around her long legs.  A red and black plaid button-up hung open over that while a dark grey sweater with large tan buttons was over that, the sleeves rolled up over the rolled back plaid.  Her long black hair flowed in wide banana curls down her back.

 

“What’s up?” Hermione was the first to speak.

 

“Well, I thought we could walk down to the carriages together,” she said innocently, and then hurriedly added, “Since we’re going together.”

 

“Really?” Ginny spoke next.

 

“Well, yes, Ron invited me.”

 

Hermione had to turn to hide her smile while Ginny’s jaw dropped open.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ginny quickly corrected herself, “That was wrong of me.  But… _Ron_ … asked you to Hogsmeade?”

 

“I know, sounds strange,” Anna laughed before leading the way; Hermione and Ginny were quick to catch up, “But he really is sweet, so I couldn’t say no.  I’m not sure if it’s a date, though.  I mean, we’ve talked a few times, but he didn’t really make it clear what this was.”

 

Hermione nodded, and the girls continued their chatter down into the common room where they met up with Harry and Ron.  Ginny smiled as Ron greeted Anna shyly, and Hermione felt strangely out of place, watching her two best friends be so at ease with their significant others.  That feeling, however, instantly dissipated when they exited the portrait hole and Draco looked up from his place leaning against the wall.  He whispered hello with a soft, lingering kiss that made Hermione smile and lace her fingers through his.

 

“Are Pansy and Blaise coming?”

 

“They’re meeting us downstairs.  Pansy was taking forever getting ready.  Harry, Ron, Ginny,” he acknowledged, nodding in their direction.

 

“Oh, Draco, this is Anna,” Ginny introduced, motioning toward the girl at Ron’s side.

 

Draco smiled pleasantly at her before squeezing Hermione’s hand, and the couple led the way, their friends soon falling into step next to them.  When they arrived at the Great Hall, Pansy was rolling her eyes at Blaise and pushing him playfully.  She was dressed in the bluest jeans, tight and ripped, with a flowing white shirt with light red stripes and a thin navy belt around her waist; high, open-toed, laced leather heels adorned her feet.

 

“Pansy,” Draco greeted, touching her shoulder, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

 

“Lovely as ever, darling,” she murmured before turning to Hermione, “It’s good to see you again, Hermione.”

 

Her voice was a little stiff, though this was to be expected.  While they’d met over the summer, she knew Pansy was still somewhat uncomfortable with the idea.  Blaise, however, was quite accepting.  He instantly took to Harry and Ron, and the four boys were quickly falling into conversation once they found their way to the carriages.  Hermione just smiled, watching on.  Slowly but surely, they were reshaping history.

 

\--

 

“Do you even know how beautiful you are?”

 

Hermione laughed softly, snuggling into Draco’s warm embrace.  They were in Tomes and Scrolls, and, up until then, they’d been separated by their lingering eyes and curious hands, by whispering words and fantastical stories.  He held her from behind now, though, having snuck up to her, and he breathed her in, nose turned into her hair, eyes closed to her.

 

“Thank you, Draco.  Where have you been?”

 

She turned in his arms, looping her own around his neck.

 

“Here and there.  Did you find anything interesting?”

 

“Just one.  Draco, can I ask you something?”

 

They were walking away from the aisle she had been in toward the counter where Hermione quickly paid and then they were on their way out the door.

 

When he nodded, she continued, “Do you miss how things were that week?”

 

“Honestly,” he smiled, “I wish this year would just hurry up so I could ask you to move in with me.”

 

She was _floored_ at this.

 

“M-move _in_?” she stuttered, “With you?”

 

“Would you not want to?  I guess I should have phrased that better,” he frowned, stopping them, “I’m leaving the Manor as soon as I can and buying a flat in London.  I was going to ask you to move in with me.”

 

“Draco,” she paused.

 

She hadn’t really considered life after school, life after everything.  Once the war had ended, she’d just been glad to be free from the weight of everything, to be able to be happy and _relax_.

 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, which is why I was going to wait,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb lightly in circles around the back of her hand, “Let’s not talk about it, okay?”

 

Hermione nodded, grateful.  She wanted to just relax for the first few months of school.  She would think about afterward closer to May.

 

\--

 

_November twenty-seventh._

_1998._

Ginny nudged Hermione as Anna came bouncing in through the portrait hole, and they excitedly waited for her to come over to them.

 

“Well?” Hermione asked.

 

“Well what?” Anna returned, sitting in a flourish and crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“Oh, _come on_!” Ginny exclaimed, “We’re dying to know!  Did he ask you?”

 

“Yes!” Anna squeaked, causing Hermione and Ginny to let out noises of excitement.

 

“That’s so amazing!  Oh my gosh, we can all go together now!” Ginny grinned wildly, “I can’t believe _my_ brother actually got the nerve up to ask a girl.”

 

“Unlike fourth year when he settled for the sister of whomever Harry picked.  That boy was such a mess,” Hermione laughed reminiscently, “Harry did ask you, right?”

 

“Well, of course he did.  We heard about it, and he asked me before McGonagall had even finished her explanation.”

 

“Oh,” Hermione let out softly, frowning.

 

“Draco hasn’t?”

 

When she shook her head, Ginny sighed, “Maybe he just assumes you’ll be going together since you’re dating.”

 

“He shouldn’t assume anything.  I could very well go with a friend if I wanted to,” Hermione huffed.

 

It had been bothering her lately as she watched everyone find their dates for the upcoming Yule Ball, and Draco seemed completely unfazed by it.  He acted precisely as Ginny thought, that he just assumed they were going together.

 

“Hermione!”

 

Ginny’s voice brought her out of her trance, and she snapped her eyes over to the window where her friend was pointing, noticing the annoyingly loud tapping.  She went to let the owl in, surprised when it only stuck out a leg to her.  It flew off as soon as Hermione untied the letter.  When she opened it, she couldn’t help but smile.

 

_You are nearly impossible to find, did you know that?_

She could hear his voice in her head, snippy and snide as he was.

 

“Where are you going?” Ginny asked as she walked away from the window and toward the portrait hole.

 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

 

She left the portrait hole and looked to her right to find Draco Malfoy leaning against the wall, an arch in one of his eyebrows, a smirk on his lips, and his hands behind his back.

 

“ _You’re_ impossible,” she sighed, shaking her head, “What do you want?”

 

He stole her breath, however, as he stepped forward, the façade dropping to one of a soft apology, and he revealed a single rose from behind his back.

 

“Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

 

“Draco, _yes_!” she exclaimed instantly, hugging him tightly, “Why didn’t you ask sooner?” she grumbled into his neck.

 

“Because I wanted it to be special,” he whispered, pulling away, “And you seemed fairly worked up about it.”

 

“Ass,” she muttered, hitting him lightly.

 

“Mm, you love me.”

 

“I do,” she murmured before he kissed her longingly.

 

“Hermione,” he breathed before connecting them again, bringing their bodies closer, “Stay the night with me.  We’ll go to the Room of Requirements.”

 

“Draco,” she sighed, but he stole her away with another kiss, conveying his want, his need in that one kiss, and she fell into him, sunk into his touch, his cool lips.

 

“Let me grab a change of clothes,” she said, breaking away from him firmly.

 

He handed her the rose before she left, and Ginny watched with a bemused expression as she raced past them, jogged up the stairs, and was back in the common room ten minutes later.

 

“Oh, where are you going _now_?” Ginny chided, getting up and stepping in Hermione’s way.

 

“Gin,” she said, low and dangerous, “Please.”

 

“Okay.  I won’t tell the boys,” she promised, smiling, “Be safe.”

 

Hermione just nodded before hurrying out of the common room.  Draco laced his hand with hers as they walked down the hallway, Hermione’s smallest purse charmed to hold her things.  They reached the wall in record time, Draco quickly walking across it three times.  When a tall door appeared, he pulled her through it, and his kiss was _shocking_.  Hermione had never quite felt her heart beat so fast or her body ache so much for him.

 

“Draco,” she gasped as he pushed her against the wall and threw her cloak to the floor.

 

Her body bent against his as he stepped back, and she molded against him, causing him to laugh as she took his chin in two fingers and turned his face back down.  She pulled him into a kiss that he drank in, though his fingers were quick to remember their duty, and he found the zipper on the side of her skirt, tearing it down.

 

She stepped out of it, pushing him away, and she was quick to tug off her shoes and grey knee-highs as he stared at her, chest rising and falling heavily.  When they met again, Hermione found herself lifted off her feet.  She barely even noticed the time in his arms before she was lying on the bed.  He barely made it on top of her before she flipped them, straddling his waist and leaning back so she could unbutton his shirt.

 

Hermione kissed her way back up to his mouth, and she smiled as he moaned into her mouth, bringing her closer and rolling them again so that he was on top.  They continued this, rough and demanding, until they were spent and Hermione let her head fall back against the pillow, swollen lips parted, and chest heaving.

 

“Wow,” she let out as he collapsed on top of her, head buried in her neck and her mussed curls.

 

“I second that,” he murmured into her skin, and she sighed as he suddenly rolled away, “Hermione, move in with me after school.”

 

She hesitated only a second to move onto her side, her elbow bent and her head above his.

 

“Okay,” she whispered, and he smiled before leaning up to kiss her.

 

“Really?”

 

“I’d love nothing more.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

And he pulled her into his arms, smiling wildly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Also! Say hello to Anna! If you’ve read my writing before, you’ll know that OCs are some of my favorites to create, and so this is nothing new to me, but it’s the real beginning to non-cannon, though I’m sure most of you were aware of that. I hope you’re still enjoying!


	18. xviii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stepped toward him, fingers skimming over his clad arms and stopping at his jaw. When they parted, a small touch of blood had found its way into his cheeks, and a warmth had crept into his eyes that only she could ignite.

_xviii._

_Just follow me now_

_December twentieth._

_1998._

“Okay, let me see.”

 

Ginny exited the bathroom to the shocked approvals of the girls.  She was dressed in fuchsia with a single strap that wound its way around her left shoulder and touched down to the back of her right shoulder.  Layers fell around one another, though it fell straight to the ground.  A large smattering of diamonds spread from a small stem at the bottom of her bust and expanded itself into off-shooting lines until it reached the heart-shaped top.  Her red hair was pinned up in random places, leaving curls to fall down around her in an elegant manner while the rest settled against her back.

 

Anna went in after her, and, when she returned, she was wearing a black and silvery-grey dress.  It was strapless, and it hugged her delicious form to her mid-thigh where it suddenly let out in layers, a thin black one topping it.  The torso was cut first in a straight black line and a silver one on top before another black cut diagonally followed by a matching silver one.  One breast was black, the line wrapped around while the other was silver, and the back was tied in a corset fashion.  Diamonds lined the cuts, and her black hair hung down her back in its usual perfect curls save for two strands on either side braided back and clipped with a small diamond jewel.

 

When Hermione exited, the girls just smiled.

 

“He’ll love it,” Anna instantly assured, nodding.

 

The dress had surprised her at first, though she continually went back to it on the girls’ outing the weekend previous.  Something drew her to it, and, in the end, she couldn’t help but set it down on the counter, much to the surprise of the three girls around her.  Its base looked as though a hundred different people had taken a hundred different colors and engaged in the most vicious paint fight.  Light and dark blue, pink, orange, black, red, purple, and light and dark green clashed beautifully, skillfully, fashionably before they met in a gathered wrap of pink around her midriff.  Each color then shone in sparkling diamonds around her bust in a strapless heart.  Her curls she’d left down as they’d grown much longer in the past few months, though she’d pinned the right side up with a barely visible clip.

 

When they met Pansy outside the tower, she was wearing a strapless dress with a skin-colored slip underneath that reached the ground.  Diamonds covered her bust before separating in long lines, three on her front, three on her back.  Black layers of chiffon fell from seven different positions on her thighs, tumbling down in layers.  She’d fashioned her black hair into a messy bun that curled around her neck and dipped down her shoulder.

 

Together, the three girls made their way down to the Great Hall where they mulled around outside awaiting the doors to open and their dates to arrive.  Hermione smiled, however, as she felt a pair of light, ghosting lips touch the back of her shoulder.

 

“You,” a silky voice whispered near her ear, and the other girls stopped talking, eyes fixed on the couple, “are mouth-watering.”

 

“Oh?” Hermione returned in a soft, low voice, and a blush crept into her cheeks, one not of embarrassment but of desire, as he kissed the spot right behind her ear.

 

She smiled and turned as he retreated, a pale figure in a handsome tux.

 

“Mouth-watering?” she repeated, and he chuckled softly before leaning forward and pulling her into a not so chaste kiss.

 

She stepped toward him, fingers skimming over his clad arms and stopping at his jaw.  When they parted, a small touch of blood had found its way into his cheeks, and a warmth had crept into his eyes that only she could ignite.

 

“Beautiful, actually,” he murmured, “You really do look stunning.”

 

“Are you wearing tails?” she laughed, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Might be.  Your friends are staring.”

 

“They’re just jealous of how insanely gorgeous you are.”

 

“Gorgeous,” he scoffed, and he stole one more kiss before taking her hand and turning her, “The doors have opened,” he offered as an explanation to moving her away.

 

Hermione had never before experienced quite a night.  Her only memory of a ball had been with Viktor, and, while he had been a good dancer, he was nothing compared to a Malfoy.  He twirling her around the floor flawlessly, guiding her and holding her.  Though she too taught him, loosening him up when the band came on in the second leg of the ball.

 

When they finally went to sit, Pansy stole him away before he’d even made it to his chair, and he sent Hermione an apologetic glance before allowing Pansy to tug him onto the floor.  Hermione collapsed into her chair, smiling over at the boys.

 

“You’re not dancing?  Again?” she sighed, but Harry quickly rolled his eyes.

 

“Ginny needed a drink and some food.  Trust me, I’ve been doing nothing but.  Ronald here has been quite the animal, as well.”

 

“Seems Anna knows how to dance and didn’t mind so much my stumbling,” Ron laughed.

 

“She really seems to like you, Ron,” Hermione said with a soft smile, and he nodded.

 

“Apparently, so doesn’t Malfoy.  Ah, there you are.”

 

Ron averted his attention as Anna placed a kiss on his cheek and sat next to him, a plate of food for each of them.  Ginny returned with the same, though she’d apparently caught sight of Hermione and had floated another two over, one for Draco and one for her.

 

“I am _starving_ ,” Ginny muttered, instantly lifting a small finger sandwich into her hand, “And these are _delicious_.  Anna only ate, like, half of them before I could get to them.”

 

“They’re _so_ good!” she replied in her defense.

 

They continued conversing until Draco found them, kissing Hermione on the shoulder before sitting next to her.  Pansy and Blaise joined her before long, and it was a night to be remembered.

 

\--

 

_December twenty-first._

_1998._

Hermione looked up as Anna sat next to her in a flourish, smirking at her.  She arched an eyebrow, though when she looked back at Ginny, the redhead had quite a similar look upon her face.

 

“What?” she questioned of the boys, but Anna just shrugged and reached for the spoon in the eggs, “Oh, c’mon, what’s going on?”

 

“You didn’t come back last night,” Anna sang as Ginny grinned wider.

 

“So?”

 

“You slept with him,” she stated matter-of-factly, “And on the night of the ball!  So classy.”

 

She sounded sincere, though Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

 

“It wasn’t the first time.”

 

“Hermione Jean!”

 

Ginny’s voice surprised her at first, but, when she looked up, she couldn’t help but laugh at the shocked look on her friend’s face.

 

“Oh, please.  You know I wasn’t a virgin.  I told you all about it when it first happened.  Draco, Draco happened during this past summer.”

 

“Really?” the two girls gasped, and Hermione laughed harder at their suddenly immensely curious looks.

 

“Yes, really.  I went to spend the week at his house, and, well, you know.”

 

“Is he a god?” Anna asked; Hermione choked on her toast.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Oh, Hermione, please.  Just look at the boy.  He’s _beautiful_.  He must be good in bed.”

 

“You,” she replied, stabbing a fork in Anna’s direction, “are so crude sometimes.  What about you?  Have you snogged Ronald yet?”

 

“Mm, that might be awkward to talk about with his sister sitting so close, dear!”

 

“Hush, did you?” Ginny demanded.

 

“Yes!” the raven-haired girl squealed, and the other two congratulated her with smiles, “And!  He asked me out.  We’re officially dating now.”

 

“That’s so awesome!” Hermione exclaimed, genuine, “Ginny.”

 

“Don’t turn this on me.  I may have snogged Harry last night, but that’s nothing new.”

 

“It’s sometimes so weird to hear you say that.  I just can’t imagine Harry like that.  I don’t know,” Hermione shivered, shaking her head, “Wait… Gin.”

 

“No.  We have not had sex yet.”

 

“Okay, I was just checking.”

 

“So,” Ginny began almost instantaneously, “Have you given Draco your answer about going away during break?”

 

“I really would love to, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

 

“Oh, why not?” she scoffed, shaking her head, “You two would have so much fun.  Listen, where does he want to take you?”

 

“Italy!” she gasped, “Can you believe it?  And he wants to pay for everything.  He even said that if I wanted to do it the real way and take an airplane, he’d get tickets.  He’s so insane sometimes.  Here,” she paused, fishing in her bag for a slip of paper, “He gave me a list of all the places we’d visit.”

 

“Four cities!” Anna breathed, “Wow.  Florence, Venice, Sicily, and Rome.  Very nice.  I’ve been to Rome before.  It’s so beautiful.  Oh, and all those museums.  He knows you so well.”

 

“Hermione!  Dad took Mum on a trip to Venice one year, before they had any kids, of course, and she used to tell me the most amazing stories about it.  You’ll absolutely love it.”

 

“That’s where we’d be staying, too.  Guys, I just don’t know.  My parents said I could, but—”

 

“What’s stopping you?” Ginny interrupted, “Is it him paying?  I know how stubborn you are, but Hermione.  He loves you, clearly.  This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

 

“Not if you’re dating Draco Malfoy,” Anna laughed, “You need to go.”

 

“I really want to.  You think so?”

 

The two girls nodded fervently, and Hermione just looked down at his elegant scrawl, sighing.  When she reciprocated their nod, they instantly delved into a conversation of what she would bring and the places the couple would go, though she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to that moment when he’d asked her, let her eyes travel to connect with his grey ones across the hall.

 

_“Hermione,” he whispered, and she giggled as he blew curls away from her face, “Hermione, I want you to come away to Italy with me for a whole month, four weeks, four cities, this winter break.  Please?”_

_They were in the Room of Requirements on one of their nightly escapades there, and they’d fallen into a soft slumber only to be woken by his ghosting fingers at the ungodly hour of three oh seven.  After some touching and gasping, he’d finally spoken._

_“Please?”_

_“All of winter break?”_

_“I want to be with you, to really be with you, and Italy is beautiful.  I’ve always wanted to go.”_

_“I don’t know, Draco.”_

_“Don’t tell me then.  Tell me on the train home.  If you say yes, we leave on December twenty-third.  We’ll come back on January twenty-third, and then we go back to Hogwarts on the twenty-fifth.”_

_And then they’d made love._

“You were staring so intently, I figured you _must_ be thinking about me,” Draco’s voice brought her out of her reverie, and she just hit him lightly before smiling widely, “What?”

 

“I want to go to Italy.”

 

“I love you,” he returned after a breath and a smile.

 

He enveloped her in a warm hug and a passionate kiss that left Ginny and Anna giggling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Blah, this is grossly short, and I’m so sorry, but I just could not put the next scene in this chapter.


	19. xix.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner proved to be just as flawless, though it was kept to that of the hotel for the couple was weary from their afternoon of play-fighting, pillow-fighting, love making, unpacking, and relentless bouts of tickling here and there.

_xix._

_I find careful patterns in the snow_

_It seems you did come ‘round but changed your mind_

_December twenty-third._

_1998._

Draco shouldered his backpack, a suitcase at his feet.  He’d decided to split up some of his things and to make it look at least a little more believable to Hermione’s parents that they were actually going somewhere for a month.  He could barely even believe they’d said yes.  He left his room with one last glance before going downstairs to bid his parents farewell.  His mother left him with a kiss on the cheek and a warning to be good while his father simply nodded and wished him a good vacation.

 

He apparated once on the other side of the gates and reappeared at the foot of Hermione’s steps.  He smiled to himself before going up and knocking on the door, his smile widening as he heard her call to her parents that she’d get it, and she quickly greeted him with a swift kiss and a large beam before leading him inside.  There he spoke with her parents for a little while, though they released them up to Hermione’s room where they would be departing on the hour.

 

They spent their last fifteen minutes kissing and whispering, and it was Hermione that chided him on distracting her when a minute ticked past nine o’clock.

 

“Calm down,” he laughed before standing and holding out his hand to her, the address clear in his mind.

 

She gathered up her things, just a backpack and a suitcase like him, and took his hand, closing her eyes as they disappeared with a loud pop.  When she opened her eyes again, Draco was grinning at her expectantly.  A tall, gorgeous building stood before them, and Hermione just squeezed his hand before he led them up the front steps and into the beautiful lobby.

 

The receptionist looked up as they entered and nearly fell over in her haste to shout for a bellboy.  Hermione gave Draco a strange look, one which he steadfastly ignored.

 

“Mister Malfoy,” the woman at the desk nodded, “Your room is just being finished.  If you’ll please, just a moment and I can gather your keys.”

 

“Explain,” Hermione demanded, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“So, this is a wizard hotel.”

 

A thick silence followed until Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head.

 

“How does that connect to—”

 

“Your keys.  I hope you find everything to your liking, Mister Malfoy.  It is truly a pleasure to have you staying with us, Miss Granger.  Thank you for all that you’ve done.”

 

Hermione was baffled into silence at this, though she managed a small smile and a nod before Draco led her away.

 

“See, you’re famous, too.”

 

“You’re not famous; you’re rich,” she snapped, and he just laughed as the elevator door opened.

 

“Draco,” she started again once they’d reached their floor, the eleventh, “What if I said that I didn’t want to work for the Ministry, that I didn’t want to be an Auror?”

 

“I’d say that you probably have some very logical reasons for not wanting to.  And then I’d ask what they were.”

 

“I just…” she trailed off as he opened the door, “Wow.”

 

The floral walls looked gold in the light that was cast from the white-curtained windows, windows that covered the entire opposite wall.  A very large bed sat a few feet from the window, the headboard matching that of the walls, though this was a creamy color, with gold lining it.  Similar blankets and pillows adorned the bed, though she forced her eyes away from this to take in the elegant furniture and the spacious room.  Beyond this room were a small kitchen to the right and a beautiful, extensive bathroom to the left.

 

“Draco,” she gasped, but he just hushed her with a kiss.

 

“Let’s unpack.  You can start all that later at dinner.”

 

Dinner proved to be just as flawless, though it was kept to that of the hotel for the couple was weary from their afternoon of play-fighting, pillow-fighting, love making, unpacking, and relentless bouts of tickling here and there.  When they finally crawled into bed that night, Hermione tucked in a large t-shirt and nothing but, Draco could barely bring her to him fast enough.

 

“So,” he began, kissing her lovingly, “Tell me your plans.”

 

“I want to open a bookstore.”

 

His laughter was so loud that she hid in his chest, punching him lightly and angrily.  He held her close, arms tightly wrapped around her, and she stopped punching as she felt his body shake against hers, and he was breathless, his face hidden in her hair.  She’d only seen him laugh like this a few times.

 

“ _Of course_ you want to open a bookstore,” he finally gasped, a few more shakes running through him before he controlled himself, “I was laughing at your obviousness, baby,” he cooed as she frowned at him, “I think it’s a marvelous idea.”

 

“You’re being sarcastic,” she whined, though she was still rocked by the abrupt pet name.

 

“I’m not,” he promised, kissing her temple, “Do you have a place in mind?”

 

“You’re going to laugh again, but the owner of Flourish and Blotts approached me during the summer when I was buying my books, said that he wanted to retire and that, if I was interested, that he would very gladly hand me the reigns.”

 

“No way, really?”

 

“Yea, I guess he’s good friends with Madame Pince.  Go figure.  But, I wrote him a few weeks ago, told him that I was interested, though I had a ton of ideas for reconstruction, and he told me that I had full control come this summer if I was positive of everything.”

 

“Reconstruction?”

 

“I want to introduce Muggle literature into the wizarding world, just like the library at Hogwarts did.  I want to completely transform the shop.”

 

“I think that is a beautiful idea,” Draco whispered, kissing her softly, “You really are sure about this?”

 

“Draco,” she sighed, snuggling closer to him, “I’ve been fighting for the wizarding world my entire life.  Ever since I set foot in that compartment first year, I’d sealed my fate with Harry, and I’ve never looked back.  I don’t regret anything that we’ve done, but Harry, Harry loves that.  He lives for the thrill of everything, he wants to continue to cleanse the world, but I don’t.  I’m done.  I just want to do what I love, and that’s always been about books.  I know Ron will follow him, and they’ll make the greatest team, but I don’t want to be an Auror, I really don’t.  I feel like that part of my life is over, and I want to open a new chapter, no pun intended.”

 

“Well, I will back you one-hundred percent, no matter what you do.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really,” he promised.

 

“What are you doing after school, Draco?” she asked quietly after a few moments of silence.

 

“Originally, I was going to work for my father, but I don’t know if that’s what I want to do anymore.”

 

“You should co-own the bookstore with me,” she murmured sleepily, and Draco just smiled, kissed her mess of curls, and drifted off.

 

\--

 

_January twenty-first._

_1999._

Their first stop after breakfast was the Accademia Gallery in Florence, though Hermione was considerably more eager about their second stop: the Bargello Museum.  Their time passed in a blur of wildly turning brown curls, excited gasps, and a laughing Draco.  They indulged in touristy attractions such as Hermione taking photos and Draco directing them toward a cute looking café for lunch.  When the night finally claimed them, however, they found an alley to apparate back to their hotel, and Hermione collapsed on the bed, spent, while Draco slowly unbuttoned his shirt, eyes resting on her.

 

“Did you have fun?” he asked softly, and she quickly sat up, smiling.

 

“I had _so_ much fun.  I can’t wait to see everything else.”

 

He just laughed and went to kiss her, slowly luring her into the shower with him where they continued to kiss against the glass walls, hot water making them wet and slippery, eliciting giggles from Hermione and whispers from Draco.  In the end, though, they fell into an almost instantaneous sleep, exhausted from the day’s activity.

 

The next day brought them to the Pitti Palace, where they looked through paintings, period customs, sculptures, and the such before they retired to a small restaurant looking out at the Ponte Vecchio, a beautiful, stretching bridge.  Christmas came and went without a mention, and they were well into the second week when it finally crossed Hermione’s mind, though she vaguely shrugged it off and went about her day.  The second week brought them to Sicily, where they spent time at the somewhat emptied Messina Beach, indulging on a relaxing day and a picnic.  The following days brought them to Sperlinga Castle and the ancient settlement of Tindari and Halaesa, though it was the third week that held the most curiosity and excitement for Hermione: Rome.

 

Within Rome, they explored the Coliseum, the Pantheon, St. Peter’s Basilica, the Braccio Nuovo and the Octagonal Courtyard within the Vatican, the Mouth of Truth and the Temple of Hercules in the Aventine, the Baths of Caracalla, and the Theatre of Marcellus.  Only by the fourth week, back in Venice, did Hermione finally begin to feel tired.

 

“You,” she answered his laughing question, “You are what’s making me tired.  Making me run around _everywhere_ ,” she whined, snuggling deeper in the blankets as he tried to coax her out.

 

“If we sleep in today, do you _promise_ to go out with me tomorrow?” he whispered, kissing all over her face until she swatted him away, a large smile on her lips.

 

“Yes, but I want to sleep today.  We’ve only slept in a small handful of times, and we already saw part of Venice.”

 

“We saw Saint Mark’s Bell Tower.  That’s _one_ thing!” he scoffed, bringing her into his arms.

 

“Two, technically, cos there was the telescope and stuff.  Just kiss me on the mouth,” she sighed when he continued his escapade around her neck and face with his kisses.

 

He happily obliged.

 

The next day brought them a quiet canal ride in a gondola, and it went mostly uninterrupted until Draco smiled and pointed to a bridge they were approaching.

 

“That is the Bridge of Sighs,” he informed, “Otherwise known as the _Ponte de Sospiri_.  Legend has it that on the left is a holding cell of sorts and on the right is an execution site.  The prisoners would take their last breath walking across the bridge, hence its name.”

 

They came a little closer to it, and Hermione was so absorbed in the beautiful architecture of it that she barely noticed Draco speaking again.

 

“However,” he started, “It is also said that should you kiss under the bridge, that love is everlasting.”

 

Hermione smiled, turning to face him only to realize he had disappeared.  She averted her gaze to the middle of the gondola where the blonde knelt, one knee to the ground, two hands holding a small velvet box.  Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt like she’d never breathe again.  Her heart stopped, and she willed it to not beat, to not ruin this moment.

 

There he was, the only love she’d ever known, a true grace that had touched her life.  She could not say that she hadn’t daydreamed of being the wife of a Malfoy, especially _her_ Malfoy.  He was something so different from any of his family, Black or Malfoy, and she treasured him for that.  She adored him, cherished him, and he had made it real, he had taken everything that he’d ever said, ever done, ever wanted to say and do, and he’d put it into this one moment, and she had never loved him more than right this very second.

 

But he couldn’t be asking this, not of her.  It was simply improbable.  She was barely nineteen, and he was still eighteen.  They were only just legal in the wizarding world, and they were still in school.  His question flashed before her eyes, and she gasped as she realized that asking her to move in had been the first step.  She’d led him to this by asking about what would happen after school.

 

Hermione stared at him, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her as he opened his mouth.  Did she want to spend the rest of her life with him?  Every pulse of her heart screamed yes, and her brain surged to life with an adamant no.  It wasn’t probable.  It wasn’t practical.  But she loved him.

 

“Hermione Jean Granger,” Draco said, his grey eyes boring into her soft brown ones, “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> I haven’t left you guys with a cliffhanger in a while. I figured you deserved one, :D
> 
> Also, I’ve noticed that GK is getting a little less attention than normal. I’m not usually one to point this out, but I was just wondering if any of you are starting to lose interest in this. Don’t be shy; I’d love to know so I can spice it up some more and gain whatever readers are dwindling away back. And, on that note, I’d like to thank everyone that has reviewed so far. I can’t believe this has gotten over two hundred reviews and over 16,000 views already. You guys are amazing, :D


	20. xx.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so they stayed there for hours to come, and they made love once more, to the soft pitter-patter of the dying sky’s tears, to the delicate music graced with haunting ambience, and they were one.

_xx._

_If you’d just take ten more steps to me_

_I won’t ever ask you again_

_January twenty-fifth._

_1999._

_Ginny, he proposed._

“I got your letter,” Ginny said at the train station, grabbing onto Hermione’s arm, “Or, well, your _note_.  You couldn’t even tell me if—oh my God, you said yes!” she ended in a shriek as Hermione waggled her left hand in front of her.

 

It was simple, something Hermione hadn’t expected of him, but something that she immensely respected him for.  He knew her.  It was just a thin silver band with one centered diamond, not a rock, but not a pebble.  And she loved it.

 

“I know, can you believe it?” Hermione giggled, and Ginny just shook her head, her mouth agape.

 

“It’s so beautiful,” she said, grabbing Hermione’s hand and staring at the ring, “How did he do it?  Oh Merlin, tell me everything!”

 

“You’ll have to wait until we’re all together.  I want to tell all of you guys at the same time.  Plus, he’s practically staring holes in my back.  I just kind of ran off when I saw you.”

 

“You’re _engaged_!” Ginny squeaked, squeezing Hermione’s arm, and the brunette nodded fervently, her beam ever-present.

 

“I’ll be back.  Save us seats.”

 

She left to where Draco was glancing over at her every once in a while, only half immersed in the conversation he was holding with Blaise Zabini.  When she returned, however, he merely smiled and pulled her against him, kissing the top of her mess of curls.

 

Hermione took a deep breath some fifteen minutes later before sliding open the compartment door.  Ginny grinned wildly as the couple entered, and Hermione smiled a nervous, small smile that instantly quieted everyone.

 

“Hey guys,” she greeted, pulling Draco behind her as they went to sit opposite Ginny and Harry, “So, we kind of have some news.”

 

“I knew it.  I _knew_ this would happen!” Ron exclaimed, already standing up.

 

“Ronald!” Ginny shouted, facing him, “Sit back down.  She hasn’t even spoken.”

 

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?  I told you he would fucking change you!”

 

“Ron!” Hermione yelled, gathering his attention, “I’m _not_ pregnant.”

 

“That implies they’ve had sex, Ron.  How do you feel about that?” Harry teased, and Ron just glared angrily at him.

 

“Well?” Ron demanded, crossing his arms.

 

“We’re,” Hermione paused, looking over at Draco nervously, and he just smiled.

 

“We’re engaged,” he said for her, never taking his eyes away from hers.

 

“Guys!” Anna shrieked, “That’s so exciting!  Oh my goodness!  You totally knew before me,” she turned on Ginny, who just nodded.

 

“Hermione, come on, you have to tell us how it happened,” Ginny pleaded as Harry smirked.

 

“Congratulations, guys,” he said softly, and Hermione just smiled gratefully at him.

 

“Well, that’s a lot better,” Ron sighed, “I’m sorry, ‘Mione.  I didn’t mean to freak out.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

When she paused, Ginny kicked her shin, and she just glared before beginning, “Well, we were in Venice, and there’s this bridge, the Bridge of Sighs.  One side is a holding cell and the other is an execution sight, or, at least, that’s what it used to be.  Prisoners would take their last breath as they crossed the bridge, hence its name.  However, according to this one,” she said, smiling over at Draco, “If you kiss under the bridge, your love is supposed to be everlasting.  And so, he proposed, under the bridge.”

 

Ginny and Anna let out collective gasps, and, for the next little while, Hermione showed off her ring, discussed small details of the wedding that they’d already come up with, and it wasn’t until they were getting off the train that Draco finally approached Harry.

 

“I actually have a question for you,” he said, drawing Harry aside, “I know this is going to seem kind of weird, but you mean a lot to Hermione, more than you’ll ever know, and I will be forever grateful for your acceptance of our relationship, for even giving me a chance.  Thank you, Harry.”

 

Harry went to speak, but Draco swiftly cut him off, “I’d like you to be one of my groomsmen.  As I’m sure you’ve figured, Hermione will be asking Ginny and Anna, though she’ll also be asking Pansy.  You’d be alongside Blaise and Theodore.”

 

“Draco,” Harry smiled, “Of course.  I’m just curious, what made you propose now?”

 

They were walking again when Draco shrugged, “There’s… there was something there, Harry, ever since October of our sixth year.  That first time I read to her, it was like something had changed.  And, I mean, it’s been over two years since then, and we’ve withstood so much already.  We were _still_ in love throughout that year apart, and I just keep thinking back to the Black Lake, when I first found her again, the night of the battle, after everything was over, and we fit right back together, like nothing had ever happened.  It just—”

 

“I get it,” Harry cut him off, “I know exactly how you feel.  That first time I saw Ginny again,” he stopped, shaking his head, and Draco just nodded.

 

It was good to have at least someone who completely understood.

 

\--

 

_January thirty-first._

_1999._

Draco placed a soft, delicate kiss on Hermione’s bare shoulder, to which she smiled happily, her face turned away from him.  He traced the hand not supporting his head over her bare stomach, up the length of her arm, and he pushed the hair away from her ear, leaning down to press his lips around her jaw, neck, and ear.  He loved nothing more than the touch of her skin, the absolute beauty of it.

 

He looked up as she shifted a little, bringing her hands up to press together under her head.  She backed into him a little more, wanting to be closer, to be part of him.  He watched her with warm grey eyes, sparkling with affection.  Sighing, he let his head suspend on its own, and he wound his arm underneath her before laying his head atop her own.

 

Her gaze reached the large bay window across from the bed, the only other thing (beside the desk) that resided within this place he’d created in the Room of Requirements.  Rain fell across the pane, decorating it with the sky’s tears.  The world outside was a sad grey, and snow still blanketed the grounds everywhere.  But the rain still fell steadily, determined to break through the mounds of white and touch the soft tickles of green.

 

And Draco watched this world with her, finding the ease and serenity that she did upon observing it.  He soaked in the calm of the rain, the noise of the pitter-patter of it, the sensation of imagining being wet just standing in it, letting it grace bare skin.

 

She had a record on that he’d never heard, a soft, melodic album that had soothed him the second it started.  Just the ambience of it alone sent shivers down his spine, brought him away from everything and pinpointed his sole attention on the beautiful brunette in front of him.  It made him tremble, made him reach and reach for her.  He cast his eyes over to it as a siren touched the beginning of one of the songs, and he smiled.  He loved this music.  He loved her.

 

When Draco moved his gaze back to Hermione, she had shifted again and was moving her hand slowly in the dying light of the dying sky, watching as the feeble rays of a hidden sun kissed the single diamond.  He watched it with her, smiling.  He couldn’t believe she’d said yes, that she was his.  He had been so nervous, had been so unsure of whether or not she would actually accept him, but she had, and she was his.  It made his heart swell and soar.  He could barely believe that _she was his_.

 

It was very simple, something he knew she would appreciate.  His mother had approached him with her engagement ring when he first asked them to approve, though he adamantly shook his head.  He knew Hermione, he knew what she would want, and his mother’s rock was far from that.  He’d gone shopping alone for he didn’t want anyone’s opinions; he wanted to let his heart decide.  His heart, something that Hermione had captured and would never let go.

 

Draco brought her closer at this thought, letting his grey eyes slip shut as he soaked in the feel of her, the smell of her, the touch of her.  He wanted nothing more than to stay here forever, this beauty wrapped in his arms, this beauty that was _his_.

 

And so they stayed there for hours to come, and they made love once more, to the soft pitter-patter of the dying sky’s tears, to the delicate music graced with haunting ambience, and they were one.

 

\--

 

_February thirteenth._

_1999._

The story of how they had met, how they had found one another, had quickly spread throughout the school, to students and teachers alike, though Hermione hadn’t realized just how many people would approach her.  Some shook their head at her, though many begged her to tell the story herself, to really show the romance that had transpired, that had grown.  She indulged a few, though it grew tiresome after a while.  And then a whisper of their engagement flittered among a few before it blossomed and _everyone_ was talking about it.  Hermione could barely even count how many people came up and asked to see the ring, asked how he had proposed.  It was both amusing and annoying.

 

Quidditch finally started up again in February, and the first match was between Slytherin and Ravenclaw.  Hermione, though she was torn between rooting for both teams, sat with the Gryffindors, Ginny and Anna on either side, and the boys behind them.  The girls all chatted animatedly as they waited for the game to begin.

 

“So,” Ginny began quickly as the doors opened and the Ravenclaws walked out, “Harry asked me to move in with him after school.  Hermione, you are _never_ going to believe this, but,” she paused, ecstatic-looking, “He found his parents’ old house, which was also his grandparents’.  It’s technically his, and he wants me to move in there with him.”

 

“No!” Hermione gasped as Anna stared on disbelievingly, “Really?  Have you seen it?”

 

“I haven’t.  He’s taking me over spring break.  Hermione, I can’t even believe this, can you?  A _house_.  And it was his parents; that will just be so amazing for him, to go back to where they lived.”

 

“That’s amazing, Gin.  Wow.”

 

“I know, I know.  Look, I want both of you to come see it with me after he takes me, okay?  Please?”

 

“Yea, of course,” Anna promised, “That would be awesome.  I was actually gonna ask you guys if you wouldn’t mind coming into London with me and flat-browsing.  I’m moving out of my parents’ house as soon as I can.”

 

“Is Ron?” Hermione asked Ginny quietly.

 

“I’m not sure.  He hasn’t said much about it.  I think, though, that Harry wants to let him live at the house until he gets enough on his feet to move out.  I don’t have any problem with it, he just hasn’t asked yet.”

 

“They’re both going to be Aurors, right?” Anna asked conversationally as the Slytherins walked out onto the field.

 

“They technically already have the job.  Did I tell you that, Hermione?  The Head of the Auror Department came over during winter break and told them that, if they were still interested, it didn’t matter their grades and they already had the job.  They just have to do some small training.  And!” Ginny exclaimed excitedly, “He said that once Harry had been there for a few years, he was going to retire.  You should have seen his face, the Head, I mean.  He’s so excited about finally retiring.  He started telling us all his plans,” Ginny laughed softly, “But, anyway, Harry’s going to be promoted to Head, which, apparently none of the department has a problem with.  They were going to tell you, too, but you were in Italy.”

 

“I’m not,” Hermione broke off as Lee Jordan overrode them, “I’m not going to be an Auror, Ginny.”

 

“No way!” she gasped, “Why?”

 

“Because she’s taking ownership of Flourish and Blotts,” Harry interrupted them, leaning forward with a smile, “Hermione, I wrote Jack, Head Auror, about it, and he said that they’d really still love to have you involved, and, after a few letters back and forth, we came up with something.  How would you like to work part-time as an Auror?  You’ll just be involved in the finer details of it, you won’t actually be doing any raids or the such, just the information side of it.”

 

“Really?  That sounds perfect.  And I get to stay at Flourish and Blotts?” Hermione turned to him, curious.

 

“Absolutely.  I don’t think you’d ever have to come into the Ministry, actually, unless, like, we direly need you.”

 

“You should do it, Hermione,” Ron piped up, “It sounds like a perfect fix.”

 

“It really does.  Harry, I’m definitely on board for that.  Let… Jack?  Let him know,” she said, nodding and smiling.

 

He just returned the movement before leaning back to continue his conversation with Ron.  And Hermione couldn’t help but grin for the rest of the game; everything was working out wonderfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> It took me a little while to write this chapter, but once I finally got it going, it went pretty well, so I hope you all enjoyed it. Also! The “ambience-ridden” and “delicate” music that I referenced in the January thirty-first scene was inspired by Jacob Golden’s sophomore album, Revenge Songs. I didn’t put any specific songs there or lyrics because, well, it came out in 2007, but it, honestly, it really shaped that entire scene, so, if you can find it, definitely give it a listen. He truly is something amazing, that man is.


	21. xxi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looked down at the ruined arches, the crumbling rock, and she smiled. There was something delicate about this place, something very beautiful she just couldn’t put her finger on.

_xxi._

_Just because I couldn’t say doesn’t make me a liar_

_February nineteenth._

_1999._

It was raining again.  Draco sighed before tightening the belt on his jeans and going to the window.  He braced a hand against the wall and stared out at the rain, and he was calm, content to just watch the world outside drown.  The snow had slowly started to fade, for which he was glad.

 

Distantly, he heard the door open, though he didn’t register it until Blaise called his name, and he pulled his eyes away from the window, arching a perfect blonde eyebrow.

 

“Are you ever coming?  I’m starving, mate,” he said, leaning against one of the four posts around his bed.

 

Draco just shook his head before going to pull a black vneck over his head.  He tugged on a blue and grey plaid shirt after that, and he was rolling up the sleeves as he followed Blaise out of the room.  Converse-adorned feet touched the ground in soft footfalls as he walked, barely heard by anyone, a talent he’d mastered years ago.

 

Lunch found him casting a longing gaze across the Great Hall to where Hermione sat, chattering quickly and excitedly to Ginny and Anna.  She was waving her hands about, accenting her words, and he occasionally caught the gleam of her ring.  His own fingers turned over the silver band on his finger, and he couldn’t help but smile.

 

“Blaise,” he suddenly said, bringing his thoughts away from his bride-to-be and turning them to his best friend, his friend who mumbled something incoherently through a mouthful of sandwich.

 

“Charming, Blaise.  I’ve got a proposal for you.”

 

“A proposal?” Blaise repeated, and Draco rolled his eyes.

 

“You’re really dense today.  Will you be my best man?”

 

“Uh huh.  Are you asking Potter and Weasley, as well?”

 

“Half.  Theodore!”

 

“Yes, your highness!” Theodore Nott joked as he threw his arms around Draco and pressed his cheek against the blonde’s, “I would be _honored_ to be one of your groomsmen!”

 

“Thanks, Theo.”

 

He just laughed and went to sit next to Draco, reaching over briefly to rumple Blaise’s hair.

 

“You look simply smashing today, love.  Have you been laid recently?”

 

Draco instantly turned his grey gaze up to Blaise, arching an eyebrow curiously.

 

“Well…” Blaise trailed off, shrugging, and Draco grinned, “Okay, so I have.”

 

Draco and Theodore took turns congratulating them before Draco lifted his eyes again, and he smiled as his were met with a pair of beautiful brown ones.  He was only torn away when Theodore started asking questions and teasing Blaise, and he felt the need to join in.

 

\--

 

_March twenty-fourth._

_1999._

“Hermione,” Ginny whispered, nudging her friend, “His house is _huge_.”

 

“I know.  I was so intimidated the first time I came here.  Well, I mean, after the war.”

 

Ginny nodded, and spoke again quickly to avoid allowing the memory to surface, “What is Narcissa like?”

 

“Oh, Gin,” Hermione smiled, turning to her friend, “She’s so beautiful, inside and out.  You’ll love her.”

 

They were standing outside the door to the Malfoy Manor, patiently waiting to be let in.  When Narcissa finally reached the door, she pulled it open and instantly embraced Hermione warmly.

 

“So good to see you again, dear,” she said, smiling down at her before beckoning the three girls in, “Pansy is in the kitchen.  I’ve got the kettle on.  Just a quick cup before we leave.  We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

 

Together, Hermione, Ginny, and Anna walked through the long front hallway, Narcissa leading the way, and they entered the enormous kitchen to collective gasps from Ginny and Anna.  Hermione greeted Pansy with a small smile, though she was shocked when the girl stood and went to hug her.

 

“I was petty before,” she apologized as she pulled away, “Forgive and forget?”

 

When Hermione nodded, Pansy simply beamed before leading her over to the long island.  They chatted lightly before everyone stood to leave just under an hour later.

 

“Hermione, you’ll be apparating into London to collect your mother, correct?” Narcissa asked as the group of girls got ready by the fireplace.

  
“Yes.  I’ll meet you just outside of the Leaky Cauldron wall?”

 

“We’ll be there.”

 

Hermione left them to Floo into Diagon Alley before exiting the Manor.  She whispered the charm Draco had taught her once she reached the gates, and a curse was lifted from them long enough so that she could walk through.  After much berating, he’d finally revealed their secret, though he refused to meet her gaze while he spoke.

 

 _“It’s cursed to… to kill,” he gulped, “to kill anyone without_ pure _blood,” he spat the word, “to kill people like you.  There were exceptions, of course, for those like Voldemort and Snape, but you would not survive it.”_

A shiver ran through her at his words, but she merely shook her head and disapparated, appearing again in an alley in London.  She found her mother waiting anxiously on the street not far away, and she quickly greeted her before leading her into The Leaky Cauldron and through the back where they exited the pub through the wall and entered Diagon Alley.  They met up with Narcissa and the girls in mere minutes and, together, the six girls made their way through some of Narcissa’s choice stores before they finally settled on one.

 

Narcissa and Jean chatted amiably as the girls changed in the large dressing room, and the three bridesmaids came out first, dressed in long gowns.  They were a light coral color that flowed in three layers, one a slip, one a base, and the other a simple and somewhat see-through layer.  There was a sash that wrapped beneath the bust that faded into an array of gorgeous, sparkling diamonds that covered the entire top all the way to its thin straps before it dipped into a low v in the back.

 

“Hermione, these are beautiful!” Ginny called, twirling a little, “Let’s see you!”

 

Hermione exited, and an amazed silence fell over the group.

 

“Perfect,” Narcissa said, nodding, “Do you like it?”

 

“I _love_ it,” she said, hugging the white material to her.

 

“Excellent.  We’ll need to get the four of you dresses for the reception, also, as well as us, Jean,” she added to Hermione’s mother, “And don’t you worry,” she said as Hermione opened her mouth, “I’m covering it.  Don’t even try to argue, Hermione,” she finished, shutting Hermione up with a smile.

 

The girls each picked out shorter dresses for the reception.  Hermione found an aquamarine dress with a purple layer that peeked out from beneath.  It held a few layers of aqua and purple chiffon and a single silk slip.  A teal and purple design of flowers burst out over the left side, though it didn’t reach beyond the middle of her strapless bust and the top of her thigh.  Ginny wore a colorful blue, yellow, white, purple, and teal dress that fell in flowing layers around her thighs in a mess of large swirling designs that eventually faded into a blue-tinted white that was separated by a line of blue gems that outlined a gathered dark and light blue strapless top.  Anna chose a very springtime dress that shone in pink and green.  Quite a few chiffon layers puffed the bottom of the dress out, and the colors alternated, growing light and more see through as they went.  A gathered green sash covered beneath her bust, leading into a sparkling, strapless pink top.  And Pansy chose a classier, simpler look with a simple black bottom, a large, gathered red sash complimented by a red bow, and a black polka dotted, strapless white top that fell in vertical folds.

 

After they finally finished dress-shopping, the girls went for a lunch out compliments to Narcissa before parting ways.  Once home, Hermione couldn’t help but slip back into her dress and twirl around in front of her mirror.

 

“You look beautiful, sweetie,” Jean murmured by the door, and Hermione turned to her, beaming.

 

“I’m getting married, mum.  _Married_.”

 

Jean just shook her head, unable to keep her smile away, before going to hug her daughter tightly.

 

\--

 

_April eighteenth._

_1999._

Hermione sat with a flourish, and her three friends smiled as she rifled through her bag before pulling out a small journal stuffed full of pamphlets, pictures, and an assortment of other things.

 

“Look through.  Pick your favorite,” she said, pushing the journal across the table.

 

They were in the Great Hall in between meals, the only place they could think to convene without any sort of restrictions.  Ginny, Anna, and Pansy slowly looked through the journal, murmuring to one another, and it was a good fifteen minutes before Hermione got her answer.  They’d apparently decided on one place in particular, and Hermione just smiled down at the old church.  She’d never been particularly religious, but her parents and their friends were, and she wanted to honor them in any way that she could.

 

“You think?” Hermione said, touching the photo of Hailes Abbey, “I was so unsure of even considering it.”

 

“Why, because it’s in ruins?” Anna returned, shaking her head, “Hermione, look at it.  It is so beautiful.  Just imagine, on a clear, sunny summer day, white chairs everywhere, a band filling the empty space with charming melodies, and you, in that _gorgeous_ dress, walking on the softest grass to meet your equally gorgeous husband.”

 

Hermione laughed at this, but Pansy was quick to pick up, “I know it’s not an ideal place, and it’s not even a church really anymore, but, Hermione, it would be pretty amazing.  And, plus, I’m sure, with Narcissa, this place would look flawless.”

 

She looked down at the ruined arches, the crumbling rock, and she smiled.  There was something delicate about this place, something very beautiful she just couldn’t put her finger on.  And she nodded, staring at it.

 

“It’s perfect.  Okay, we need to talk set-up, then.”

 

And the girls went off, deciding where everything should go, what times the wedding and the reception would take place, and they were unstoppable until Harry walked in, looking quite shy.

 

“Oh, are you girls talking wedding nonsense again?” he said, leaning down to place a kiss on Ginny’s cheek.

 

“We are, but did you need me?”

 

“I was wondering if you were free tonight.”

 

“For?”

 

“A date,” he responded, kissing her on the mouth, “Is that okay?”

 

“Of course.  What time, and should I dress nicely?”

 

“Something simple, but yes.  And is eight o’clock fine?  Don’t go to dinner.”

 

“Absolutely.  Eight o’clock.  I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” he whispered before leaving them to discuss excitedly what he could be planning.

 

\--

 

_April nineteenth._

_1999._

Ginny sprinted into the common room, spotted Hermione, and grabbed her friend’s arm, urging her off the couch.  Hermione followed in bewilderment as Ginny led her out of the common room, yelling for Anna to follow, and they hurried up the dormitory stairs as the portrait hole opened and Harry walked in, looking amused.

 

“Oh!  My!  God!” Ginny shouted as Anna closed the door behind them, and Ginny just stared at them in shock.

 

“What?” Hermione exclaimed, looking over at Anna, who just shrugged.

 

“ _Harry proposed_!” she shrieked, dancing around.

 

When she finally stopped, and Hermione and Anna had finished giggling and jumping around with her, she showed off her new ring, an elegant pear-shaped diamond with two tapered baguette side stones.

 

“He brought me to the Room of Requirements,” she said, blinking away tears, “And there were candles and this beautifully done dinner from the kitchen, and it was so romantic, and, _oh my gosh_ , we made love, and it was perfect and amazing and wonderful, and then he proposed, right there, when we were just lying together, and I can’t even believe it!  Guys, I’m _engaged_!”

 

Ginny let out a little laugh of excitement, shaking her arms wildly as tears streamed down her face, and Hermione just laughed and shook her head before enveloping the redhead in a tight hug.

 

“I’m so happy for you, Gin.”

 

“You guys have to be my bridesmaids.  Hermione, will you be my maid of honor?  Oh my gosh, no, you’ll be my _matron_ because you’ll already be married!” she exclaimed in a little squeak, which set the other two girls in fits of giggles.

 

They all fell into a long conversation after that discussing their two husbands-to-be, their weddings, and Hermione and Ginny could barely contain their excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Awh, everyone is getting married and all happy! :D Also, I’ve put together a photobucket album for all the different outfits that are presented throughout this story. These include Yule Ball dresses, anything the girls have worn, and, later on, Hermione’s wedding dress and bridesmaids’ dresses, among other things. It’s really easy to get to since I’ve created a custom URL, so all you have to do is type in photobucket dot (.) com followed by a forward slash (/) and grazedknees as one word, and it’ll take you directly to the album. I’ll be updating it with each chapter that features new fashion, so I’ll let you know at the end of those chapters when new things are uploaded, :)


	22. xxii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco stared around at the crumbling arches and the wide expanse of green grass before turning his gaze back to his fiancé. She nodded, and he looked back again, and, as she slipped her hands through his and kissed him on the cheek, she conveyed just what she saw, and he smiled.

_xxii._

_I noticed a chance in the tone of your voice_

_It’s so clear_

_June sixteenth._

_1999._

Draco stared around at the crumbling arches and the wide expanse of green grass before turning his gaze back to his fiancé.  She nodded, and he looked back again, and, as she slipped her hands through his and kissed him on the cheek, she conveyed just what she saw, and he smiled.

 

“It’ll be held here, in the cloister.  The reception is going to take place back at the Manor, in the foyer.”

 

“That makes sense.  And we’re holding the reception two hours _after_ the wedding?”

 

“To allow for my parents and any of their Muggle friends to travel.”

 

“So, then, there will be no magic involved?”

 

“Well, yes, there will be, but not to the visible eye.  Your mother and mine, honestly, are taking care of everything.  They’re almost more excited than we are.”

 

“I told you that would happen.  So, when is Ginny planning hers?”

 

“She wants a winter wedding, though not _too_ wintry, so she’s going to have it in November.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Draco led Hermione away from the cloister, and they began the short journey back to the apparition point.

 

“I can’t believe we’re getting married in less than a month,” Draco sighed as slipped an arm around Hermione’s waist, “You don’t even know how happy I was when you said yes.”

 

“You don’t even know how happy I was when you asked,” she returned, smiling up at him, “I’m just so excited.  I can hardly wait for it to happen.”

 

They continued along the topic of the upcoming wedding until they reached the point and apparated back into London, one block away from their flat.

 

\--

 

_June twenty-first._

_1999._

“Draco!” Hermione called as she entered the kitchen to grab her purse, “Draco, I have to leave!”

 

She was dressed in see-through leggings with small black hearts everywhere, an off-white floral dress with lace sleeves, and little black heels.  She pulled on a black cardigan, left it unbuttoned, and clicked back through the flat to her bedroom where Draco was pulling on a pair of black suit pants.

 

“I’m going,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.

 

He quickly tugged a white button-up on, and Hermione sighed, going to collect his other things after leaving her purse on their bed.  As he carefully pulled on his black and grey, Old English accented, velvet vest, Hermione found his shoes, wand, and suit jacket.  He quickly laced on his black shoes, kissed Hermione on the cheek, and was putting one arm in his jacket when Hermione sighed, and he turned.

 

“What?”

 

“Your tie,” she said, holding it out to him, and he just rolled his eyes before pulling on his jacket and going back over to her.

 

She flipped up his collar and fastened the grey tie as he smiled down at her.  When she finished, he pulled her in for a passionate kiss, one that left her smirking and following him out of the room.  Draco pulled on a long black velvet coat that reached the back of his knees, just barely hiding his jacket as Hermione stepped in front of him, swept a stubborn lock of blonde hair away from his forehead, and leaned in to peck him on the mouth.

 

“I’ll be back late tonight.  I have to do a lot of work still before I can finally open tomorrow.  I’ll be home early enough to make dinner, though.”

 

“I love you,” he whispered, and she smiled brightly.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

And, with that, they both disappeared with loud cracks, Draco to the Ministry and Hermione to Flourish and Blotts.  Once there, she let in one of the girls she’d hired recently, and they went through and into the backroom in silence.  She was young, though only two years younger than Hermione, and she had short black hair that bounced in layers around her jaw.

 

“Are you working tomorrow, Jane?” she asked casually as she stowed her things away.

 

“I am.  We open officially tomorrow, right?”

 

“The door is open!” a voice yelled from beyond the backroom, and Hermione rolled her eyes before nodding in Jane’s direction.

 

“Do you have to be so obnoxious?” Hermione chided, meeting Anna in the storefront with a hug, “Alright, girls, we’ve got a ton of work to do today.  Let’s get started.”

 

And so they went to work, adding the finishing touches to the brand new Flourish and Blotts, and Hermione couldn’t be happier.

 

\--

 

Draco looked up as there was a knock on his door and Harry entered slowly, surprising Draco with his casual attire of jeans and a t-shirt.

 

“I’m training,” he said in explanation, “First day, Ron thought it would be proper to show up dressed, like, well, you, and _that_ went over well,” he laughed, shaking his head, “So, you decided on the Department of Mysteries?”

 

“They were desperately looking for employees after the war, and it’s always been very interesting to me, so why not?”

 

“Sounds fair enough.  Listen, I know this is kind of weird, me coming to you, but I just,” Harry paused, and he looked uncomfortable, so Draco stood, starting to go around his desk.

 

“Draco,” Harry began again, “I trust Hermione, I really do, and I trust you, but I have to know something.”

 

Draco stopped, staring at Harry in wonder.

 

“Was she an assignment?”

 

A heavy, tense silence fell between the two, and Draco watched as Harry glanced down at the other’s arm, and Draco finally sighed before shrugging out of his jacket.

 

“She wasn’t.  Honestly, Harry, all of it was just a surprise to me.  She never was even a thought in Voldemort’s mind,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves and showed him his bare arms, “It disappeared.  My father’s is gone, too.  As soon as he died, we were set free.  Though I’ve heard that those like Yaxley, who were imprisoned, still carry his mark.  People who still believe in him, still follow him, still bear him.  I don’t.”

 

Harry nodded, letting out a sigh of relief.

 

“I’m sorry, Draco.  I had to know, though, for Hermione’s safety.”

 

“It’s understandable, Harry.  You’re her best friend,” he said with a shrug before rolling his sleeves back down, “How is the Auror training going?”

 

“Pretty well, actually.  Ron and I will be finished up just before the wedding, and then we’ll be getting into the actual business of it after.  I’ll be shadowing Jack for a while to understand the duties and concepts that surround being Head Auror, and it’ll just progress from there.  Say, uh, maybe the three of us could get lunch?  I know you and Ron aren’t on the best of terms, but I think it would do us all good.”

 

“Yea, sure.  That actually sounds excellent.  Let me just finish up with a bit of paperwork, and I’ll meet you…”

 

“By the statue of Dumbledore at noon, say?”

 

“Sure.  I’ll see you then.”

 

And Harry left with a small smile, leaving Draco to shake his head in wonder.

 

\--

 

_July seventeenth._

_1999._

The cloister of Hailes Abbey had been completely transformed compliments to one Narcissa Malfoy.  Rows upon rows of white chairs faced the northeast corner of the wide, grassy opening where the doorway to the church used to stand.  They hadn’t touched the doorway, and instead left it bare to its beautiful, crumbling composition.  Flowers lined each side of the rows, and it was a perfect day.  A blue sky sparkled above with a warm sun, and puffy white clouds occasionally provided shade, though it wasn’t much needed.

 

By ten o’clock, nearly all of the seats had filled, and people were anxiously awaiting the ceremony to begin.  A soft chatter filled the air as Draco apparated just a ways down the road, Blaise, Harry, and Theodore in tow.  They’d been hurriedly ushered out of the house upon Hermione’s arrival.

 

The four boys made their way down the dirt path toward the wedding sight, and Draco couldn’t help but smile the entire way there.  He was positively bursting with excitement, to which the three boys had quite a good time poking fun at.  They entered through the doorway where the ceremony would take place, and Draco watched as his three friends went off to greet their respective families, Harry going to the Weasley’s and punching Ron lightly on the arm.

 

“Draco,” Lucius said as he approached his son, and Draco nodded, his smile faltering.

 

“I want you to know that I’m proud of you, no matter who you marry,” Lucius said slowly, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder, “And Hermione is,” he broke off, though he refused to drop his gaze, “Hermione is a beautiful woman.  She reminds me very much of your mother.”

 

“Thank you,” Draco returned, nodding, and he took the hand that his father offered.

 

It was the most public display of affection that had ever crossed between the two Malfoy men.  Blaise returned, relieving Lucius of having to stay up by the doorway, and the two boys chatted while waiting for Theodore and Harry to return.

 

Ten thirty finally came, and Draco smiled as the strings suddenly dropped their tune.  He heard a distant crack signaling the arrival of his bride, and his heart sped up.  His Aunt Andromeda, who had arrived only moments ago, stood by the end of one of the walls, awaiting confirmation from her sister to begin.  It seemed like the seconds ticked by as Andromeda stared down at the road, and Draco watched her every move, his smile widening as she nodded at the band.

 

Draco caught a glimpse of white through one of the archways, though it was gone as soon as he turned to look closer, and so he dropped his gaze back to the end of the rows where Lucius and Narcissa had appeared.  After his parents came Hermione’s mother, and, once the three were seated, Pansy stepped forward on Harry’s arm.  As they reached the halfway mark, Theodore and Anna came forward followed by the best man, Blaise, and the maid of honor, Ginny.  Draco felt as though his heart would thump right out of his chest as he saw Andromeda go back to her seat as Blaise and Ginny reached their halfway mark.

 

A flower girl appeared, one of Hermione’s cousins, and the tiny little girl took a few paces forward, throwing beautiful pink petals everywhere before Hermione’s father came forward with his daughter on his arm.  The white dress was strapless, and the torso wrapped around in layers that lengthened into an elegantly layered bottom.  Layers of petticoat and the such kept the dress from falling flat, and a short veil covered Hermione’s glowing face while her brown curls tumbled behind her, pinned up on one side with a single pink rose.

 

Draco watched, breathless, as George lifted his daughter’s veil, kissed her on the cheek, and handed her to Draco, who could barely believe his eyes.  This girl, this beautiful and wonderful girl, was his and his alone.

 

Neither Draco nor Hermione heard much of the ceremony.  They vaguely remembered promising themselves, speaking their self-written vows, and slipping one another’s rings on.  Hermione blinked away tears the entire ceremony, though Draco could see the glassiness of her brown eyes, and it made his own fill.  When the priest finally murmured those delicate words, Draco took his wife in his arms and kissed her for all to see, a passionate and adoring kiss.

 

“I now present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy.”

 

Hermione let out a little laugh of joy as a few tears escaped her eyes, and she stared up at Draco lovingly, to which he quickly kissed her and then took her hand, leading her out with their groomsmen and bridesmaids following.

 

Their photographers, one Muggle, one wizard, met them just beyond the cloister where they awaited the place to empty a little before they ventured back in for pictures.  After that was done, Hermione approached her parents.  They looked uneasy at the idea of apparition, but they took her hand nonetheless, and the three of them reappeared outside of the Manor.

 

The reception began promptly at two thirty in the backyard of the Manor.  Tables and chairs now filled the grassy lawn, and long tables of food surrounded them.  A large space was left open at the front for dancing, though no floor had been placed down at the request of Hermione.

 

When the newlyweds met for their first dance, they were all smiles.

 

“You’re all mine now,” Draco whispered, kissing her quickly and softly.

 

“I wouldn’t want anything different.  Today was beautiful, Draco.”

 

“You’re beautiful,” he returned with, letting her go for a small spin.

 

They floated gracefully around as everyone stared on in awe.  They were perfect for one another, they fit in the molds of each other’s bodies, and they moved as one.

 

After many more pictures, Hermione and her bridesmaids went to change into their shorter, more appropriate-for-the-hot-weather dresses.  They’d asked everyone to come dressed comfortably and with the July sun in mind, and so they blended in perfectly with knee-length and mid-thigh-length dresses and skirts and bare shoulders.  It was then that Blaise stood to make his toast, and Draco glared warningly at him, to which he just blew a kiss.

 

“I don’t know if anyone here knows just what these two went through just to be together, but it was quite the feat when Draco finally sat me down and explained it.  Coming from almost entirely opposite spectrums of blood and house, they were destined, by history alone, to hate one another for all of their lives.  And yet, literature, yes, books, brought them together.  And they were shaped into this beautiful one unit you see here by their love of literature alone, and, even when distanced by war and blood status, they persevered.  Even after being forcibly separated for nearly a year, they still loved and adored, and I look up to you two,” Blaise paused here to turn to them, “Draco, you’re my best friend, and when you told me you were dating Hermione, I almost fell over.  But one look at you told me that she was the one.  I’ve seen you in your darkest moments, when you thought all was lost, and just the mere thought of Hermione brought warmth into your very soul, and it didn’t matter what task was next or what journey you had to take as long as you had even a memory of her.  And now, here today, seeing how _alive_ and deliriously happy you are, well, Hermione, thank you.  You have given him reason and purpose, you have healed him, and you have given his heart its beat.”

 

Blaise lifted his glass at this, “And now I hand you over to Miss Ginny Weasley.”

 

“Traditionally,” she began, and Blaise laughed, “Only the best man gives a speech, but, as is typically the case with these two, nothing can be done without complication.  Hermione, I remember quite clearly the day I figured out that you were seeing Draco, before you had told anyone, before the war.  It was in the very beginning stages of your relationship, and you two were still hiding in the back of the library, loving only in secret, and I remember pulling you upstairs and I could barely even form words.  Draco Malfoy, a _Slytherin_ ,” she laughed, shaking her head, “I was appalled.  And then I watched you break and lose yourself in the weeks the come.  You didn’t speak to him, didn’t go anywhere near the library.  I thought I’d gotten through to you, made you see that such a relationship was disastrous and hazardous, but, seeing you, really seeing you in the weeks that followed, I’d never seen you so… _gone_.  Every movement, every gaze searched for him.  You were lost without him, and you’ve made me understand now.  Because, this past year, watching you grow with him and love him, watching you move with him and live alongside him, it’s been earth-shattering.  I’ve never before seen two people so irrevocably and unconditionally in love, and, as Blaise so well put it, thank you, Draco.  You better take care of her, because she’s given you her heart, that much is obvious, and she’s going to expect you to hold onto it in love for the rest of your life.”

 

And, as Ginny raised her glass, everyone burst out in applause.  Hermione turned to Draco, soft tears touching her cheeks, and they kissed happily.

 

After that, everyone sat to eat, and it was only an hour later that Hermione was approached by a tall man with curly brown hair that was cut short and fierce green eyes.

 

“Hermione,” he said, and her eyes immediately widened as she looked up.

 

“Michael,” she responded, “Draco, I’ll just be a minute.”

 

She left him with a soft kiss on the cheek before leaving her seat and following _Michael_ to the outskirts of the party.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked quietly, standing a few feet away from him.

 

“Your mother invited my family.  _That’s_ who you left me for?  He looks like a fucking vampire.”

 

Hermione flinched, frowning, “He makes me happy.”

 

“I’m sure.  Hermione, he’s a freak.”

 

She sighed, rolling her eyes, “He’s not a _freak_ , Michael.  He’s just the same as—”

 

“As you, yea.  You’re both _magic_ or whatever.  I know what those two, Blaise and Ginny, were talking about.  Your parents told us a little bit about it, the war, and I remember you telling me about him, how much you hated him.”

 

“Michael, it was a stupid rivalry.  He’s not who I thought he was.”

 

“Hermione, he used to call you names, tease you all the time.  He was fighting _against_ you, and you _love_ him?” he spat, “I could have given you so much better, could have given you a normal family and a normal life.”

 

“Even if we had _children_ ,” she said angrily, “They would have my blood.  There is still a chance they would be witch or wizard.  And I want that for my children, I want them to experience the beauty that is Hogwarts and that is magic.  I love Draco, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him, and I want to have kids with him, and I’m happy with him.”

 

Michael shook his head, and Hermione glared as he stepped forward and touched her arm delicately, intimately.

 

“Hermione,” he whispered, looking down at her sadly, “ _I_ love you.  You said you’d come back for me someday.”

 

“I told you that if I didn’t die, if I didn’t find myself imprisoned by _Voldemort_ , if I hadn’t lost _everything_ , I would come back, but I have seen _so much_ , Michael.  I have _done_ so much.  I have watched my friends _die_ , and I still have blood on my hands for a war that started even before my time.  And, through it all, I managed to find Draco, and I managed to find happiness, and I wouldn’t trade him for the world.  I love him, with all of my heart, and I’m _never_ going to let him go.”

 

“He’s got you so brainwashed!” Michael shouted as Hermione tried to leave, but his touch turned into a grip, and he held her arm, forcing her there, “Look what he’s done to you!” he spat, shaking her, “He’s changed you.  He’s turned you into someone I don’t even know.”

 

“He didn’t do that!” Hermione yelled back, trying to push him away, “War did that!  Seeing Harry’s dead body did that!  Having to wipe my parents’ memory so that they would never remember me should I die did that!  Watching Draco nearly _die_ for a Lord he hated did that!  Let go of me!”

 

“Hermione, you don’t even see it,” he laughed humorlessly, “You can’t even see how much he’s poisoned you.  You—”

 

“That’s enough,” a cold, hateful voice said, and, had Hermione not instantly recognized it, shivers would have run through her, anger would have filled her veins, but she knew this voice.

 

She turned, and empty grey eyes stared at Michael.  Draco’s features were rigid, though he was surprisingly composed.  Hermione could clearly see the irate little boy that she’d despised much of her life, she could see the façade he put on for his father and for his Dark Lord, and her heart sank.  She didn’t want to cause him this.

 

Michael suddenly hissed in pain, and Hermione felt his hand recoil quickly as she watched Draco pocket his wand silently, and she wouldn’t have noticed had she not been looking.

 

“Stay away from her,” he ordered, eyes still fixed on Michael.

 

When he went to retort, Hermione touched Draco’s cheek, and she smiled.  His face transformed, and a flicker of warmth spread through him as his gaze turned down to her.

 

“I love you,” she whispered, caressing his skin with her thumb, and he smiled lightly, “Come back.  Come back to me.”

 

“I love you, too,” he murmured, dipping his chin to kiss her adoringly.

 

She didn’t look back as he led her away, and they wove through the tables until they reached the dance floor where he brought her to him and his smile was real and genuine and big this time.  Hermione just laughed, moving in closer to him and breathing him in.  She found it amazing sometimes how quite strongly she felt for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Well, look at that! A super long chapter and, well, the end of part three. Next chapter will be the beginning of part four, which will be the last part, though I can give you a small hint: it will take place in a time span of twoish years, so look forward to quite a few more chapters still. But, that’s all really, and don’t forget to review!
> 
> PS, make sure to pay attention to the year at the start of the next chapter! Oh! And also, if you hadn’t noticed, I posted a new story, :D It’s going to be short, just something I wanted to try my hand at. It’s called Thank You, Briony and it’s one of those nifty go-back-in-time time turner things. I’m having a lot of fun with it, so check it out! (It’s a Draco/Hermione, too.)


	23. xxiii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phrase rung in Hermione’s mind, and she smiled. They’d finally decided that they wanted to have kids, especially with Ginny and Anna trying. She just loved the idea of her children being in the same year as her best friend’s.

_four._

_xxiii._

_My role in this mess_

_Is not something that I can be proud of_

_January fifteenth._

_2006._

“It looks like a castle.”

 

“So does my house.”

 

Hermione turned an arched eyebrow in the direction of her husband, who, in turn, just smirked devilishly.

 

“Can we at least look inside before you step all over my toes?”

 

“ _Fine_ ,” Hermione sighed, and Draco just smiled pleasantly, kissed her on the cheek, and led her through the open, tall white gates.

 

The large Manor at the end of the cobblestone walkway was a pretty pastel blue with white shutters and a black roof.  Large, white double doors were propped open and, when they entered, Hermione’s jaw dropped.  Beyond the front hallway lay an enormous foyer complete with a wide staircase along the left wall.  They entered slowly, Draco’s arm snaked around Hermione’s waist, and a woman with a tight blonde, curly ponytail and a pleasant smile greeted them.

 

“You must be the Malfoy’s,” she said, handing each of them a pamphlet.

 

Hermione looked up at Draco, who just kept his gaze fixated on the woman, though he couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face at her incredulous glare.

 

“The front hallway you just came through houses a coat room to the right and a small sitting room to the left.  It’s nothing much, though it provides the perfect space for a gentlemen’s smoking night,” she said, winking at Draco, “If you’ll follow me.”

 

The woman clicked on through the foyer, leading them through a set of double doors positioned in the middle of the right wall.  A bare room greeted them with a large bay window on the opposite wall of the door and an unlit fireplace to their left.

 

“This Manor, in particular, has been on the market for quite some time, so the previous owners have already left.”

 

Draco nodded, turning to look at Hermione, though she was paying them no attention.  She’d left his side and was standing near the middle of the room, looking around.  When she finally realized they were awaiting her, she turned with a beam and followed them back through the foyer and toward another set of double doors near the end of the staircase.  Through that was a wonderfully large kitchen.

 

“There’s only three rooms on the first floor as they’re so large, though we’ve got another two floors to explore.”

 

“Two?” Hermione squeaked, and the woman just nodded before leading them back out and up the grand staircase.

 

Upstairs found them with a spacious study, a master bedroom, a master bathroom, and an empty-shelved library.

 

“Oh, Draco,” Hermione sighed as they entered the library, “It’s beautiful.”

 

“The east wing is all connected with similar double doors to the rest of the house,” the woman said with a pleasant smile.

 

While the bedroom and bathroom were on the west wing, the library and study were on the east wing, leaving an elegant and chandelier-furnished hallway with a winding staircase at the back.  It curled up to the third floor where two more bedrooms sat in the east wing and a gargantuan living room, though not  nearly as big as the other, took up the entire west wing.

 

“The previous owners had two children, which is why they transformed this room into another living area.”

 

“Well,” Hermione said softly, “I’m sure that will work out for us.”

 

“And we’ll end outside.  It’ll be covered in snow now, of course, though it is quite beautiful in the spring and summertime.  If you’ll just look in your pamphlets, there are plenty of pictures.”

 

They followed the blonde back downstairs, through the kitchen, and through a small, well-lit hallway that led onto a deck that stretched along the entire length of the house.  Hermione was reminded of Narcissa’s sun room as she took in the white stairs that led down into a now-snowy area where tables and chairs sat.

 

“Excuse me,” Draco said, interrupting Hermione’s thoughts, “Is there a dining room?”

 

“The previous owners never used it, though there is one.  If you’ll follow me.”

 

She led them back into the kitchen, where she stopped, motioning toward another doorway on the right wall, “The food would be brought through that hallway, though all guests would enter through the foyer,” she continued as she clicked back through the kitchen, into the foyer, and toward yet another set of double doors on the back most wall, “and be seated accordingly.”

 

It was a long room, though not quite as narrow as Narcissa’s, and it was empty save for a sparkling chandelier in the center.

 

“Could you give us a moment?” Draco asked politely, and the blonde just nodded before stepping back out into the foyer and toward the front door.

 

“Draco, I love it,” Hermione instantly said, to which he laughed.

 

“And you didn’t even want to look,” he murmured, pulling her against him and kissing her temple, “We can afford it, especially with my inheritance.”

 

“Draco,” she started, but he immediately hushed her, “Hermione, it’s either this or living with my mother until she passes away.  And do you really want to live in _that_ Manor?  All the horrible things that have happened there,” he shook his head, “I want to start in a new place with you, I want to build our life in our own home.  Let’s do it.”

 

“Are you sure?”

  
“I’m absolutely positive.  We’ve been in that flat forever.  It’s high time we moved on.  Plus, with starting a family, we need somewhere to raise our children.”

 

The phrase rung in Hermione’s mind, and she smiled.  They’d finally decided that they wanted to have kids, especially with Ginny and Anna trying.  She just loved the idea of her children being in the same year as her best friend’s.

 

“Okay,” she said after a few moments, nodding, “Okay.”

 

Draco just smiled and kissed her passionately before leading her back to the blonde where they finalized everything.

 

\--

 

_January twentieth._

_2006._

Hermione opened the door to Flourish and Blotts, smiling when Anna let out a little shriek.

 

“You’re not supposed to be here!” she exclaimed, leaving Jane at the counter and hurrying over.

 

“Look at you!” she exclaimed, “You’re practically glowing!”

 

“Can you _believe_ it?” Anna cried, hugging her tightly, “I’m so excited!”

 

“How’s Ron taking it?”

 

“He’s really happy, Hermione, you should have seen his face.  He can hardly wait.”

 

Hermione just smiled.  Anna had found out a few days prior that she was expecting.  Ginny, however, was already almost four months along with her second.

 

“I’m so happy for you.  And, I know, stop looking at me like that, I’m supposed to have the week off, but I came by to invite you and Ron to dinner tomorrow night.  Draco and I have finally got the house all settled, and we’d love if you came over for our first official night there.  Harry and Ginny should be coming as well, and Blaise and Pansy.”

 

“Oh, that would be lovely!  I’ll let Ron know tonight, though you can definitely count us in.”

 

“Alright, I’ve got to head out.  Dinner will be at seven.  Jane, you take care of her!”

 

Jane just smiled and waved before Hermione headed back out into Diagon Alley.  She continued down to Gringotts where she made a quick conversion, and then she was back in London food shopping.

 

\--

 

_January twenty-first._

_2006._

 

Draco shrugged out of his jacket after placing a kiss on a cooking Hermione’s cheek, and he left it leaning on one of the stools before sitting himself.

 

“So, what’s the menu tonight?”

 

“Can you break those pomegranates and get them ready?  They’re part of the appetizer.  When you’re done with that, slice the peaches and peel them, but do it over the bowl.  I want the juices to mix in.”

 

“Menu?” he repeated, and she just threw him a quick smile before heading toward the fridge.

 

“After the fruit, we’ll have lobster raviolis and linguini in a white wine garlic sauce with tomatoes and mushrooms.  Dessert is a surprise.”

 

“Oh, well then,” Draco said with a smirk before going to get a bowl and preparing the fruits.

 

They continued on with small talk until seven o’clock eventually rolled around, and Blaise and Pansy showed first, and Draco chatted with them in the front hall for a few minutes before showing them to the dining room.  Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Anna were not far behind, and, soon, everyone except Hermione was sitting at the long table, enjoying tall glasses of wine and bowls of pomegranate and peaches.  They provided a beautiful color, one that Draco admired.  Hermione entered after only ten minutes of them conversing, a bright smile on her face.

 

“My apologies for the display,” she murmured before sitting in the empty chair on Draco’s right; Ginny and Harry were next to her while Pansy, Blaise Anna, and Ron sat opposite, “How is everyone?”

 

“Fantastic.  Hermione, this place is _gorgeous_ ,” Ginny sighed, “It really is something amazing.  Oh, and Mum says hello.”

 

“Give her my love,” she said, turning her gaze when the small door opened and two house elves marched in.

 

Though Hermione was quite against the idea of having them, Draco had assured her that they would be treated as equals, and so she’d relented.  So far, though, she’d found them quite endearing.  They helped her in the kitchen whenever she asked of it, and they were always smiling.  She loved talking to them and hearing about their lives, so it wasn’t such a bad thing.

 

The two of them, Mimmy and Pip, were balancing a long white dish between them.  On it were large, round lobster raviolis kissed with spices and a light cream sauce.  They disappeared after allowing Draco to take the dish from them and set it down.  Hermione, though she’d steadfastly pleaded with them to let her bring the dishes in, had relented to allow them; they seemed quite fond of the job, though.  When they returned, it was with another large dish, though this one was in the shape of a deep bowl.  This contained the thick pasta, plum and sundried tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, and white wine garlic sauce.

 

Dinner went on smoothly with her friends commending her on her excellent cooking skills, to which Hermione just blushed and waved the compliments away.

 

“I’m honestly not that good.  I’ve got a wand for a reason,” she laughed.

 

“She’s lying,” Draco argued, sending her a wink, and she just smiled in return.

 

Dessert turned out to be a chocolate encrusted cake with strawberries frozen together with chocolate syrup drizzled over them.  When it finally came time for everyone to leave, it was nearly midnight, and Hermione bid them all long goodbyes, Draco making his short, and, when he swept Hermione into his arms, she smiled and sighed into him.

 

“Do you even know how much I love you?” she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning against his chest.

 

“Probably as much as I love you,” he returned, holding her close, happier than ever.

 

\--

 

_April eleventh._

_2006._

“So,” Anna began, wiggling her eyebrows and bumping hips with Hermione, “What’s going down tonight?”

 

“You’re scaring our customers,” Hermione said, though she couldn’t help but grin.

 

Anna sighed obnoxiously before waving Jane over obnoxiously.

 

“Hermione and I are going on our lunch break.  Do you think you can handle it alone?”

 

“Pfft, _yes_ ,” she laughed, “Go on ahead, I can just see you jumping around trying to pry it out of her.  Tell me after,” she added in a whisper.

 

“Anna, we can’t leave her alone,” Hermione protested, though she didn’t stop the brunette from tugging her away.

 

“She’s not alone.  She has Isabel.”

 

They’d hired Isabel at the start of the Christmas season, and it was her first job since graduating Hogwarts the semester previous.  She was a small, quiet girl, much like Jane had been when she first arrived (though Anna had quickly opened her up), with straight blonde hair that fell to her shoulders and sharp blue eyes.  She minded Hermione very much of a Malfoy.

 

“I want to know everything,” Anna said before smiling up at their waiter.

 

“And where’s your lovely redhead?”

 

“Two steps behind you,” Ginny laughed, going around him and sitting in next to Anna in the booth; they came here quite often and ate together, so they’d become something like regulars.

 

He took their orders before the two girls turned to fix their gazes on Hermione.

 

“I’m talking where, what are you wearing, _everything_ ,” Anna continued, arching both of her eyebrows, “Go.”

 

Hermione just laughed before starting, “I’m not sure exactly what restaurant, but he told me I needed to wear something beautiful, a long dress, specifically, and that I was to look elegant.  However, we’re not going out until eight, and I get off of work at six, and he said that our night began when I got home, so I’m assuming—”

 

“Oh, your genius idea,” Anna interrupted, “Ginny, did she ever tell about this?”

 

“Sex then food?  It’s absolutely brilliant.  I never thought of it that way, but it makes so much more sense,” Ginny said with a nod, “Good thing he’s such a romantic, too, cos it’s not like, well, I’m sorry, Anna, but it’s not like Ron, who would just show up before dinner and be like, well, let’s get hungry, or something.”

 

All three girls burst into a fit of laughter of this, only calming when their waiter returned with their drinks.

 

“So, have you picked out something?” Anna continued after taking a sip of her soda.

 

“Oh guys, you just have no idea.  Pansy and I went out shopping last week because he’s had this planned for a while, I guess, and I got the _most beautiful_ dress I have ever seen.  It’s long, obviously, and black.  I think there’s a few layers because it’s not exactly flat, and it’s just a straight across cut, though it goes along, like, here,” she said, motioning to a few inches below her collarbone, “There’s one strap, just a small little jeweled one, and there’s an open section from my shoulder to where a small sleeve is that almost reaches my elbow, but this is only on one side.  The other side actually dips a little.  It really is gorgeous, and I’m wearing these simple silver heels and a red coat.”

 

“Wow,” Ginny and Anna chorused, looking at Hermione with smiles.

 

“It’s going to be amazing,” Ginny nodded, “I’m sure of it.  Are you excited?”

 

Hermione just nodded fervently, beaming, “I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Did you notice the new part and the time skip? It is now 2006, my dear readers, and we are at our final part. Also, I’m sorry for the delay in update for Thank You, Briony and that I have no preview for February Stars for you with this chapter. I finally found the inspiration to start my third novel, and so my time has been occupied by that recently, which, as terrible as it sounds, always comes first before fanfiction. I’ll try to get it up soon, promise, :)


	24. xxiv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew her, for better and for worse, and he complimented her. They completed one another, as ridiculous as the idea was. He had become one of her best friends, and she loved him unconditionally and irrevocably.

_xxiv._

_But it’s all going to change_

She’d gotten dressed rather quickly this morning, and so, when she returned home, she was in a pair of wildly ripped jeans, a purposefully crinkled dark grey shirt that wasn’t even fitted, and oversized red, yellow, blue, and white plaid button-up that she left hanging open, and a long, large grey cardigan with big round tan buttons.  Converse were laced onto her feet, and her long curly hair was all over the place when she finally made her key work, and the door opened.

 

“For Merlin’s sake,” she muttered angrily, shrugging out of her black peacoat and hanging it up before going into the kitchen.

 

She left her keys in a little glass bowl by the entrance to the kitchen, and she was just reaching into one of the cabinets to grab a glass when she blinked, and looked back to the doorway.  A trail of rose petals greeted her.  She lifted one eyebrow, a small smirk turning up one corner of her mouth, and she left her purse and bag on the island before heading back out of the kitchen.  After tugging off her Converse, Hermione followed the roses up the foyer staircase and turned down the west wing where her and Draco’s room was located.

 

To her great surprise, however, the roses split into a fork, one into the bathroom and one into the bedroom.  She chose the bedroom first, opening it to find an empty room.  Draco’s clothes from that day lay in a pile on the floor; he’d clearly thought she wouldn’t be home yet.  Said husband suddenly exited their large walk-in closet in jeans and holding a long black bag that contained his tux.  His feet and torso were bare.

 

“Is it six already?” he said with a smile, leaving the bag hanging over the desk chair and going to kiss her, a lustful and passionate kiss.

 

It barely took that one kiss to coax her into slipping out of her cardigan and plaid shirt.

 

“You look like you had a hectic day,” he said after a few minutes of snogging, “Is everything okay?”

 

“I just love you,” she murmured, connecting their lips again.

 

She’d been looking forward to this all day, wrapping in his arms and letting him kiss everything away.  It wasn’t that she’d had a bad day, just that the idea of going on a date with him was so utterly pleasing, and she wanted the night to come as quickly as it could.

 

Hermione smiled as Draco swept her off her feet, hooking one arm underneath her knees.  He parted to arch an eyebrow as she giggled, hiding her face in his neck.

 

“What are you laughing about?” he demanded softly, setting her down on the bed and crawling after her, “Don’t like my chivalry?”

 

“No, I love it every single time you do it, but, for some reason, I was just thinking about—” she paused to allow him to kiss her, “the first time we ever had sex and you carried—me to the bed.  Do you remember that?”

 

“You talk _so_ much,” he groaned, nipping at her shoulder, and she just sighed, tangling her fingers in his white blonde hair.

 

He grinned wickedly before biting the crook in the curve of her shoulder into her neck, causing Hermione to moan and her hips to lift in response.

 

“Mm, I missed you,” he whispered, ghosting her skin with his breath.

 

Hermione barely even noticed his fingers moving skillfully around her waist, unbuttoning and pulling down the zipper of her jeans.  Before she even realized it, he’d slipped them off her hips, and she lifted to help him in taking them off.  Her shirt came next, and she watched as he flung it to somewhere in the room.  She pushed his chest until he rolled off of her, and she sat up, one knee on either side of him, and slowly, tantalizingly, undid the button and zipper on his jeans.

 

It was a little after half past six when Hermione curled against Draco, relishing in the warmth of him, the softness of his bare skin on hers.  She placed small kisses here and there, driving him insane until, finally, at seven ten, he tugged her out of bed and they stumbled, lips locked, toward the bathroom, where he drew them a hot bath, and Hermione watched as he gingerly stepped in, holding out his hand for her.

 

She joined him, leaning against his chest, and they lay like that for nearly an hour, only breaking to love once.  However, eight o’clock crept up on them ever so slowly, and they parted at seven forty to change and get ready.  When they met one another in the front hall, Hermione smiled.  He was dressed in a handsome black and white tux, and his blonde hair was parted and pushed back, his blue eyes sparkling.  His smile was infective, and she soon found herself grinning along with him.

 

They used Side-Along Apparition, and, when they arrived, Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.  Draco led her off of the dock and into a tall tower where they were greeted by a pretty hostess.  They were sat immediately thanks to his reservations, and Hermione stared around in awe as they were brought down a set of stairs.  The lighting was entirely done out of sight for the ceiling curved like a dome and was entirely made of glass, glass which acted as a barrier from the bluest blue water surrounding them and the millions of silver fish swimming around.  Rectangular white marble tables sat two to a section, positioned in the center of the room, though Hermione could see that two other sections led out at the end of theirs.

 

“Draco, this is amazing,” she gasped as they sat opposite one another, “How did they even do this?”

 

“It’s a wizard restaurant.”

 

She nodded; that explained everything.

 

“But still,” she said, shaking her head, “This is just beautiful.  Thank you so much.”

 

He smiled widely, reaching out to take her hand, and they stayed like that as they looked through the menu.  Hermione noted happily that they didn’t serve fish, and so she chose a delicious-looking pasta dish that came with mushrooms, chicken, cherry tomatoes, and asparagus.  They ordered an appetizer first, double tomato bruschetta, before putting in their entrée orders.  Draco ended up with steak, an assortment of sautéed vegetables, and potatoes with melted cheese.

 

They sipped wine and chatted lightly about their days, and Hermione had never felt more in love in her life.  She was so comfortable with Draco; she rarely found herself shy or worried about what he might think.  He knew her, for better and for worse, and he complimented her.  They completed one another, as ridiculous as the idea was.  He had become one of her best friends, and she loved him unconditionally and irrevocably.  And sitting here, listening to him explain something that he’d done today in the Department of Mysteries, she couldn’t help but smile widely and want to just pull him into her arms and kiss him adoringly.  Nothing made her happier than to be with him.

 

“You’re not even listening,” he interrupted her thoughts, waving a hand in front of her face.

 

“I was thinking about how much I love you!” she whined, pouting, which only made him laugh.

 

“Of course you were.  I’m not done with my surprises, you know.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Oh,” he said, and he there was no more talk about it as she decided to listen again, and he went on about something or another that had happened at the Ministry.

 

His other surprise was almost as amazing, though more on the adorable spectrum, as the restaurant.  He apparated them to a short, wide black building, and, when they entered, Hermione nearly cried at how much hard work he’d clearly put into this date.  Before them was a grassy expanse, soft and very real-feeling.

 

“It _is_ real,” he answered her unspoken question, “They grow it yearlong, and I’m not sure the exact details and kinks to work it out, but they’ve fixed it so that it’s always spring-like in here.  And, look,” he finished, pointing toward the glass ceiling.

 

A beautiful, star-filled night sky spread out before them, and Draco just kissed her cheek before leading Hermione over to the slight incline.  He waved his wand at the ground, murmured a few quick works, and a blanket appeared for them to sit on.  They spent the better part of two hours lying in each other’s arms, staring up at the sky and whispering back and forth.

 

However, as midnight crept up to them, Draco and Hermione finally pulled themselves away from the beautiful sky and apparated back home where Hermione quickly slipped out of her dress, tugged one of Draco’s larger t-shirts over her head, and slipped underneath their blankets, pulling her knees to her chest and smiling over at her husband as he undressed.  He left his clothes hanging on the desk chair before crawling in next to her, and she unfolded herself so he could bring her against him.

 

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice tired and his eyes heavy with sleep.

 

“I love you so much,” she murmured in return before they both fell into a long and heavy sleep.

 

\--

 

_April twenty-seventh._

_2006._

Hermione paced back and forth in her bedroom while Ginny sat on her bed cross-legged, Anna next to her.  They were all silent, save for the soft footfalls of Hermione’s feet.  The two girls trailed after her, their gaze lazily following her as she traced the length of the room.  Finally, after what seemed like forever, her alarm went off, and she ran across the hall as Ginny shut off the alarm and Anna got up to go stand by the doorway.

 

Ginny immediately started waving for Anna to help her when Hermione let out a little shriek, and they hurried over to the bathroom where Hermione was jumping around, a little white device in her hand.

 

“ _Oh my God, no way_!” they both screamed, and Hermione just nodded before stopping and pointing to the sink where two more similar devices lay.

 

“They’re all positive!” Hermione exclaimed ecstatically, and the three girls spent the next ten minutes giggling and freaking out until they finally calmed, and Hermione sunk against the sink, “I’ve already set up an appointment at St. Mungo’s.  It’s this Sunday.  Will you guys come with me?”

 

“Absolutely,” Ginny promised, nodding fervently, but Anna was frowning.

 

“I can’t Sunday, Hermione,” she mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Hey, it’s okay.  I’ll come right over and let you know as soon as we get out.”

 

“Er—I won’t be home Sunday.”

 

Ginny and Hermione stared at her suddenly, though they could see Anna was struggling to hide a smile.

 

“Oh, alright!” she finally sighed, “I was going to ask you after all this because I didn’t want to interrupt your moment, but Ron surprised me with a little vacation to Australia, and I need next week off, and we’re leaving on Sunday,” she finished all in a rush.

 

“Anna,” Hermione tsked, “Of course you can have it off.  I’ll just cover your shifts or talk to the girls.  That’s so exciting.  Australia?  What made him do this?”

 

“He just wanted to tell me he loved me,” she sighed happily, “God, he’s so sweet sometimes.  He said he wanted to go away, just the two of us, and have a little getaway and be all romantic and stuff.  I can’t wait!  I’m so excited!”

 

This only provided a segue for more excited chatter, and, soon, the girls found themselves downstairs with cups of tea, talking nonstop.

 

\--

 

_April thirtieth._

_2006._

“You’re just a few weeks along.  Almost three, actually.  I must tell you, though, it is so nice to see you so happy.  Most patients come in quite frightened and wishing for me to tell them that they’re _aren’t_ pregnant,” the healer said softly, “Have you told Draco yet?”

 

“I haven’t.  I wanted to make sure first before I talked to him.  And, really, I couldn’t be more excited.  We’ve been talking about it a lot recently, and I just want a child so badly.”

 

“You’re just jealous of me,” Ginny mumbled with a smirk from the corner of the room.

 

Mungo’s ran their pregnancy ward much the same as a Muggle hospital did, much to Hermione’s surprise.  Her healer was a tall woman with black hair that she’d pinned back in a loose bun, and she had worked with every Black and Malfoy that had come to Mungo’s for the past five decades.  She was already in her seventies, but she still looked as fit and beautiful as ever.

 

“Well, I can promise you that you’re pregnant.  As long as you take care of yourself, everything should go along smoothly.  And, I’m thinking a November baby.  I want to schedule you for an appointment in late September so we can determine the gender and check up on things, though I’d also like to get you in here earlier, as well,” she paused, looking through her calendar, “How does June fourth, August sixth, and September twenty-fourth sound?”

 

“Perfect.  Do you know what will consist of those visits?”

 

“Just regular check-ups,” she said, turning back to Hermione, “I just want to see how the baby is developing, and I want to check in on how you’re doing, if you’re taking care of yourself.  For as long as I’ve been working with the Black family, Hermione, they have been extremely precautious and concerned about their children.  I assume you are no exception.”

 

“Trust me, I want to do everything in my power to make sure my baby turns out healthy.”

 

“From what I’ve gathered today, you’re going to do quite well with that.  It was people like Walburga that worried me.  She never should have had Sirius, let alone Regulus.  That woman was a walking train wreck.  You, Hermione, are not.  Draco is lucky to have you.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, blushing a little.

 

“Alright, I’ve kept you long enough,” the healer stated, straightening, “I’ll put in your coming appointments with the front desk.  You have a lovely afternoon.”

 

Hermione bid the healer goodbye before she and Ginny left.  They used the small fireplace in the lobby to Floo back to the Potters’ house since Ginny was too far along to apparate any longer.

 

“I’m going to go over to see Pansy really quick before I go home, but do feel free to tell Harry.  Just him, though, please.  I’ve asked that Anna only tell Ron, too.  Draco should be getting home around four, so I’ll be telling him, then.”

 

“Write me, and let me know how it goes,” Ginny said with a smile before they exchanged a quick hug and Hermione disappeared with a loud crack.

 

“Was that Hermione I heard?” Harry asked, coming down the stairs, “I just put James down to nap.  Little bugger had me running circles all day.  Where did you go?”

 

Ginny just beamed broadly before taking Harry’s hand and kissing him lightly.

 

“Hermione’s pregnant,” she said softly, and he gasped, “I know!  I’m so excited for her.  She’s really been wanting this, and I know Draco will be so thrilled.  I can’t wait until she tells him.  And!  This means I get to throw her a baby shower now!”

 

Harry just laughed and kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Wow belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Oh my gosh! Everyone’s pregnant, yay! Haha, :D


	25. xxv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She left him with a quick kiss, and he went to work on the other five. Hermione surprised him by turning on a small radio, and she danced around the kitchen as she cooked. She was just adding the finishing touches when the doorbell rang, and she hurried off to get dressed while Draco went to sit their parents.

_xxv._

_Just close your eyes_

_And count to five_

Hermione could barely contain her excitement.  Draco had been so ecstatic that he’d insisted on having Hermione and his parents over for dinner that very night.  Draco had taken the role of inviting, and so he’d apparated to her parents first and his parents next, returning to find Hermione, Mimmy, and Pip hurrying around the kitchen.

 

“Let me help,” he said, pausing her to give her a kiss to which she smiled.

 

“I know your parents are, like, super fancy and all, but are they going to freak out if they have to use their hands for appetizers?”

 

“No, sweetheart.  Let me do that.”

 

“It takes a steady and patient hand,” she warned before instructing the two house elves on something.

 

“These,” she said, opening the oven door, “are the first step.  You broil for them for literally less than two seconds.  You just want to give them a small golden touch, just a little bit of a crisp.  What time is it?”

 

“Six.  They’ll be here in an hour.”

 

“Oh, we’ve got plenty of time, then.  Here, we’re using bread instead of crescent rolls.  Take out the middles like so, in order to make them hollow, and leave a little opening at the top.  Inside of them, curl a small slice of prosciutto.  Can you mix the cheese, pepper, and oil in that bowl?  When you’re done, sprinkle basil on it.  Wrap those in between the prosciutto.  We’re making six of them, one for each person.  When you’re done, put them in the fridge, and then we’ll talk.”

 

She left him with a quick kiss, and he went to work on the other five.  Hermione surprised him by turning on a small radio, and she danced around the kitchen as she cooked.  She was just adding the finishing touches when the doorbell rang, and she hurried off to get dressed while Draco went to sit their parents.

 

Once upstairs, Hermione pulled on a pair of barely pink stockings with a very pretty, lace-like floral design before slipping into a tight white dress that went to her mid-thigh and was strapless.  It was covered in large pink flowers, and was complimented by little purple flowers scattered about and green stems and leaves.  Over that she donned a cotton tan cardigan, and she was just heading downstairs after stepping into little black flats.

 

Narcissa and Lucius were just entering the foyer when she descended, and she kissed Narcissa on the cheek before embracing her, and she shook the offered hand from Lucius.  Her parents arrived fifteen minutes later by car as they refused Draco’s offer to apparate them, and, soon, everyone was sitting in the dining room.  Draco was just pouring drinks when Pip came in carrying a white platter with the pinwheels on them, and Hermione thanked him with a smile before placing them on the table.

 

The two main courses consisted of pasta and fish.  The first, a dish of bowties was complimented by bright green broccoli and beautifully red sundried tomatoes.  It was touched with a very delicate sauce, though it was mostly the spices that brought out the flavor.  The second, cioppino, contained shrimp, scallops, small clams, mussels, crabmeat, and cubed cod fillets mixed with a delicious sauce of herbs (onions, garlic, parsley, bay leaves, basil, thyme, and oregano), stewed tomatoes, and chicken broth.

 

It was only when they were finishing off with tea that Hermione finally cleared her throat, and Draco laid his hand atop hers, smiling widely.

 

“We asked you here for a reason,” she started, nervous, “We have really big news.”

 

Hermione let a pause of anticipation fill the room before she burst out, “I’m pregnant!”

 

“Oh, Hermione!” her mother exclaimed, “When did you find out?”

 

“My appointment was this morning, though I took a test on Thursday.”

 

“You must be so excited,” Narcissa sighed, “This is amazing.  Oh, I can hardly wait.  Another Malfoy in the family.”

 

Lucius actually smiled, which warmed Hermione’s heart, though she almost fell over when he looked straight at her and spoke, “Hermione, I know I’ve not been the most welcoming person, but, if there was anyone to carry on my family’s name, I am so very glad it was by you.”

 

“Thank you so much, Mister Malfoy,” she barely whispered, her smile quite wide, and she only dropped her gaze when Draco squeezed her hand.

 

They continued on for another hour talking about all the things that had to be done and how very excited they all were until Hermione’s father finally called it a night around ten o’clock.

 

“So, that went well,” Draco said with a smile as they cleaned up in the kitchen.

 

“I’m really excited, Draco,” Hermione murmured, and he just responded with a kiss to her cheek.

 

“As am I, love.”

 

\--

 

_July twenty-fourth._

_2006._

Draco finished up in one of the many rooms in the Department of Mysteries before heading back to his office.  He checked his watch as he entered: twelve ten.  He was a little late, but he knew that Harry and Ron wouldn’t be too bothered.  After the first time they went out to lunch, it had become an almost regular outing, and they’d soon started to include Blaise and Theodore, whenever they could make it.  Today, however, it would be just the three of them.

 

After putting away his things and leaving his jacket with his coat, Draco made his way through the maze of hallways, took the elevator to the main floor, and walked out to find Ron standing near the statue of Dumbledore.  He waved as Draco made his way over.

 

“Where’s Harry?”

 

“He had to run back home really quick.  Ginny sent him an owl in distress concerning Teddy.  He should be here any—now, apparently,” he cut himself off as Harry hurried over from one of the fireplaces.

 

“He was throwing a tantrum,” Harry mumbled, rolling his eyes, “I’m talking, like, he’d set something on fire on accident and Ginny was trying to douse that out when I walked in.  Of course, as soon as I open the door, he shuts right up, and Ginny just went ballistic.”

 

“Sounds like fun,” Draco laughed, causing Harry to roll his eyes.

 

“Loads.  Ron, what are you looking at?”

 

“You remember Yaxley, right?  He managed to slither his way around going back to Azkaban?”

 

“Yea, of course, why?”

 

“That guy over there,” Ron dropped his voice as he nodded in some direction, “looks strangely like him.  And he’s not alone.”

 

“Wh—”

 

But Harry barely got to form his question before there was a scream, and the three of them spun to see someone fly across the room.  Yaxley certainly wasn’t alone.  As he approached, Harry recognized Macnair and Rowle behind him, and, out of the corner of his eye, he could also see Dolohov and a few others.  There had been talk recently of a few of the old Death Eaters that had either escaped capture or evaded Azkaban had been attacking small groups here or there, but this was their first public appearance.

 

Harry, Ron, and Draco worked to stun them as they shielded various curses and threw their own, non-fatal hexes.  They wanted them alive, but injured enough so that they couldn’t escape.  Other Ministry witches and wizards around him immediately jumped in, but the Death Eaters were holding their ground, advancing steadily.  Draco watched Yaxley stare straight at him, and he turned his wand on him as he approached, smirking devilishly.  Harry saw Dolohov a second too late.

 

“Draco!” he yelled, but Dolohov had already fired the Cruciatus curse, and he watched as Draco’s knees buckled, and he sunk to the ground.

 

“Ron!”

 

“I’m on it!” he responded, firing a nasty hex Yaxley’s way.

 

But it didn’t matter.  Yaxley deflected the hex, grinned, and stepped back, closing the distance between him and the fireplaces.  Their first appearance was done for a reason.  Harry watched, astonished, as Draco shielded himself from another hex from Yaxley, though his body twisted in pain as Dolohov advanced on him.  He couldn’t imagine how he was still upright, still able to continue on with such agony convulsing through him.

 

Harry finally bested Macnair just as Yaxley disappeared into the fireplace, a resounding “ _Diffindo_!” shattered the room, and Draco let out a grunt of pain, finally falling from his knees.  Dolohov approached him, and Harry tried to throw a curse at him, but he deflected it without even looking at him.

 

“Tell your _Mudblood_ ,” Dolohov spat, looming over Draco, “that she will never taint the pureblood line.”

 

Harry had seen this hex a dozen times before, always performed by Dolohov, and he and Ron both threw a vicious stunning curse as Draco’s attacker’s wand emitted purple flames.  The spell hit Dolohov, but, before they could reach him, Rowle had revived him, pulled him away, and were gone in the flames.

 

Harry instantly jumped to action, running over to the convulsing blonde.  Other than a few cuts here and there from Dolohov’s _Diffindo_ , he looked completely fine, though Harry knew better than to assume so.  He’d seen the damage of Dolohov’s unnamed curse, and he quickly scooped Draco into his arms.

 

“Ron, round them up,” he said quickly, standing, “Tell Hermione what happened, and have her meet me at St. Mungo’s.”

 

Ron didn’t have time to respond before Harry had disappeared by the Floo Network.  He quickly bound the four Death Eaters they’d managed to stun, gathered a group of Aurors to take care of them, and he was stepping into the fireplace in less than twenty minutes.  He arrived at Hermione’s house to a heavy silence, though he quickly hurried upstairs.  After no luck in the bedroom or bathroom, he hurried into the east wing, burst into the library, and saw her curled up on a sofa with a book balanced on her round stomach.

 

“Ron!” she exclaimed as the door opened, “What are you doing here?  Is everything okay?”

 

“Mungo’s,” he panted, “Now.”

 

She slowly got up, using the arm of the couch to help herself up, and Ron aided her down the stairs and to the fireplace after she grabbed a pair of shoes and a jacket.  When they got there, the receptionist pointed them in the right direction, and Harry was waiting for them in the hall.

 

“What happened?” Hermione demanded, eyes wide and face pale.

 

“There was an attack.  We were leaving for lunch, and Dolohov was there.  They went right after him, Hermione.”

 

“Him _who_?”

 

“It was a specific attack.  They were targeting him for marrying you, for having a family with you.”

 

Hermione stared at Harry in disbelief, and Ron instantly led her to a bench when she let out a choked sob, eyes watering.

 

“Is he okay?” she gasped through her tears, allowing Ron to hold her against him and pet her hair.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, frowning, “They’re working with him right now.”

 

“What was he hit with?”

 

“The Cruciatus Curse first, then a form of _Diffindo_ that cut him in a few places, but nothing seriously, and then, well, do you remember that curse Dolohov used when you silenced him in the Department of Mysteries, the one he hit you with that you had to go to the Hospital Wing for and take all those potions?”

 

Hermione just let out another sob, covering her face, and Harry looked away from her, his heart sinking.

 

\--

 

“Teddy, _please_ ,” Ginny laughed as he stuck his tongue out at Victoire again and she hit him on the arm, “Stop doing that.  She’s only going to keep hitting you.”

 

“But it’s funny!” he exclaimed, sticking his tongue out.

 

“Teddy!” she exclaimed, grinning, “Stop it!”

 

They were upstairs in Teddy’s room, and Victoire had come over for a little play date.  The two continued on like this with Ginny relaxing on Teddy’s bed, her back against the headboard, and a magazine resting on her stomach, when a sudden pain shot through said stomach, and she blinked, straightening a little.  She waited for it to repeat, and it did so, less than thirty seconds later.

 

After seven children, her mother was quick to go into labor, and Ginny had apparently received that trait.  She’d barely had contractions before going into active labor with James, and Harry had only just managed to Floo them to St. Mungo’s before she was in extraordinary pain.  James had been delivered in less than two hours.  But Harry wasn’t here and she was three floors away from their fireplace.

 

“Alright, enough play,” she said, pushing herself off of the bed, “We have to go.”

 

“But Aunt _Ginny_!” Teddy whined, Victoire immediately mimicking him.

 

She gripped the bedpost for support as another contraction pulsed through her, stronger than the last.

 

“Teddy, do you remember what Uncle Harry said if Aunt Ginny was in pain?”

 

“That we had to go to the hospital because you were gonna have the baby,” he recited, eyes wide as he stared at her.

 

“Well, Aunt Ginny’s in pain and needs to go to the hospital.”

 

“C’mon, Victoire, we have to get the baby bag!” he shouted, jumping to his feet and tugging his cousin after him.

 

Harry had, thankfully, trained Teddy in what to do in a situation like this, and so Ginny forced herself out of Teddy’s room, concentrating on the sound of his voice and little feet slapping around a floor away.  She wasn’t going to make it, though she was trying to ignore this fact.

 

“Gin?” a voice yelled from downstairs, and she nearly lost her balance.

 

Ron.

 

“ _Ron_!” she screamed, and she instantly heard him hurrying up the stairs.

 

“Gin, where are you?” he shouted.

 

“Uncle Ron!” Teddy screeched, “She’s gonna have the baby!”

 

“Shit,” she heard him curse before he jogged up the last set of stairs and found Ginny slowly making her way across the hallway, “C’mon, we gotta get you to Mungo’s.”

 

“I’m not gonna make it all the way to Mungo’s, Ronald,” she snapped, groaning as her stomach throbbed in pain.

 

“It’ll be fine.  We’ll just get downstairs, and—euw!  What is _that_?” he exclaimed, jumping back as Ginny gripped his arm.

 

Her water had broken.  Typical Ron.

 

“Like I said.  Get me to my room.  _Now_ ,” she added when he didn’t move.

 

When Ron finally got his sister to her bed, she spoke again, “Jessie!”

 

A tiny house elf appeared with a crack, and Ron jumped back, staring at her.

 

“Go to Mungo’s, find a healer, tell them it’s for Ginny Weasley.”

 

Jessie just nodded before disappearing again, and Ginny looked to her brother, and he immediately understood.  He took Teddy and Victoire out of the room, sent them back upstairs to Teddy’s room, silenced Ginny’s, and took off his jacket.  He only hoped Jessie would return quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Uh oh! Ron to the rescue! I hope this wasn’t too unrealistic. The last scene with Ginny was a little hard for me to write, so I apologize if it seems weird and wrong. And, one more thing, sorry, as I stated in the opening preface, this is thirtyfive chapters long, so there’s only ten left!


	26. xxvi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The name rung in her ears, and she smiled. Her eyes were flooded with memories, and she watched them flick by, and she was happy. They had grown so much in those little visits, in those short months. She was distantly aware of Anna trying to gather her attention, but she was lost, and she closed her eyes, smiling wider. She would give anything to go back to that time, just that moment, curled in his arms and listening to his soft voice whisper words.

_xxvi._

_Let’s craft the only thing we know into surprise_

_August second._

_2006._

When Hermione pushed open the door to Flourish and Blotts that morning, she was a little more than exhausted.  She went right past a customer who recognized her and was trying to ask a question, and she stomped through the aisles into the back room where she tossed her lunch in the little fridge and collapsed at her desk, letting her head fall into her hands.  She heard the door open, but she didn’t bother to look up.

 

“How is everything?” Anna asked quietly, massaging her shoulders.

 

“A fucking mess,” Hermione muttered darkly, and Anna didn’t say another word as she continued to rub the tension out of her friend’s shoulders.

 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asked when Hermione straightened and got up.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“’Mione,” she sighed, a small smile touching her lips, “You look a wreck.”

 

Hermione looked down at herself; she wasn’t lying.  In her stress this morning, she’d absentmindedly gotten dressed, and so the result was lace-like black floral tights, a knee-length (it rose to her mid-thigh because of her ever-growing belly) white dress with bird-like grey flowers on it, a grey cardigan, and black Doc Marten boots.  She’d just wanted to be comfortable.

 

“I know.  Look, I just want to get through this shift and go back to Mungo’s.”

 

Anna frowned, “Do you really think you should be going back there?  You need to rest.”

 

“I don’t need to rest,” Hermione snapped angrily, “I’m not going to be able to relax until he wakes up.”

 

It had been just over a week since the attack, and Draco still remained unconscious.  Ginny, for all her strength, had only been let out of Mungo’s yesterday.

 

“So, one of the new girls, Briony, has been in this morning, and…”

 

But whatever else Anna was saying, she couldn’t hear.  For some reason, her legs kept moving, and her feet pushed her through the aisles and toward a cart of books they’d received that needed to be put away, and she even managed to greet a customer with a smile, but it was as though she’d gone deaf.

 

Briony.

 

The name rung in her ears, and she smiled.  Her eyes were flooded with memories, and she watched them flick by, and she was happy.  They had grown so much in those little visits, in those short months.  She was distantly aware of Anna trying to gather her attention, but she was lost, and she closed her eyes, smiling wider.  She would give anything to go back to that time, just that moment, curled in his arms and listening to his soft voice whisper words.

 

“Hermione!” Anna finally shouted, and she turned to her, “Where did you just go?”

 

“Sixth year,” she laughed, shaking her head, “When Draco and I first met.  He used to read me this Muggle book, _Atonement_ , and there was a character in there named Briony.”

 

“Wow, really?  Hm,” she paused for only a fraction of a second before continuing, “ _Anyway_ , since you weren’t listening, Briony was in this morning, and she should be leaving in an hour or so.  She’s been really great.  She’s a little older than our usual start-at-seventeen, too, so that’s good.  I think Ayshlin is coming in later, too.”

 

“We hired someone named Ayshlin?  Wait, why did we hire so many people?”

 

“Look, I know you’ve had a stressful week, but we started deciding we needed more people for when the babies came, like, last month.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione sighed, “My head just isn’t clear.  Things just need to settle down.”

 

“I know.  Look, want to come over after we close for a quick cup of tea?  We can chat just like the old days and you can just relax and be at ease.”

 

“You know, that actually sounds like a really great idea.  Thanks, Anna.”

 

“Hey, anytime.  I know you need to de-stress a little.”

 

Hermione just laughed before pushing her cart into the aisles.

 

\--

 

_August seventh._

_2006._

Hermione awoke surrounded by soft, silky black sheets.  They’d decided on black, grey, and a soft blue for their bedroom.  The sheets were black, the comforter an Old English styled grey and blue pattern, and the hangings were the same blue.  Though they never used them, Hermione still liked the comfort and safety of them.  Their curtains were white, the only thing in the room that was, other than the plush white carpet that covered one half of the room; it extended from the door, along Hermione’s side of the bed, and all the way to the other side of the room, lining the closet and touching the wall beneath the window.

 

She was wearing one of Draco’s old, quite large t-shirts, and she loved how soft the cotton was, how there were small rips and holes here and there, how it still smelled of him.  Her sleepy smile and morning stretches were disrupted, however, as Mimmy and Pip suddenly appeared with a loud crack, both tumbling over their words.  Hermione sat up slowly, holding out her hands for them to stop.  When she pointed to Mimmy, Pip pouted.

 

“A healer is downstairs for Mrs. Malfoy.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened immediately, and she pushed herself out of bed as fast as she could.  She flew right out of the room without even thinking, and she was about to descend the foyer stairs when the healer laughed and held up a hand.

 

“Don’t come all the way down here; you’ll just end up going back upstairs,” he said with a small smile from the bottom of the staircase, “I came to inform you that your husband has awoken and is quite adamant about seeing you.”

 

“Is he okay?” she demanded, taking the first two steps.

 

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he warned, “Please.  Go get changed, and I’ll escort you to St. Mungo’s.”

 

She relented after a moment, and Mimmy and Pip helped her around the room, gathering her clothes for her as she went to brush her teeth and fix her hair.  When she returned, she smiled.  They’d picked out a blue-grey skirt with a mess of hundreds of black polka dots that, normally, would have rested at her knees.  She donned a white tank top, pulled the skirt over her belly as it was originally intended as high-waisted, tugged on a light tan, thick cardigan, and she was just slipping on socks when Mimmy disappeared and Pip went to get her shoes.

 

Mimmy returned seconds later with her purse, _Atonement_ , and a wide smile.  Hermione was nearly brought to tears as she took the two things, tucking the book away in her purse.  She knew that the two house elves had frequently heard her talking about how special the book was to her, especially because it was the copy Draco had always used, the copy he left her, and the copy she took from the library at Hogwarts.

 

When she exited her room, Pip appeared with her shoes, and she thanked him softly.  He’d brought her black Doc Marten boots, though she didn’t care that it looked a little off with the rest of her outfit.  They were comfortable and kept her back from hurting, and she just wanted to leave.

 

When they arrived, Hermione was brought immediately to Draco’s room where he was sitting with his back to the headboard, his grey eyes closed.  Hermione rushed over to him as he straightened and turned his gaze to her.  Relief washed over his features, and he cupped her face as she stopped beside him.

 

“You’re okay,” he whispered, and Hermione let out a tearful laugh.

 

His thumb caressed her cheek, and she smiled wide, disbelieving.  After a minute, Draco looked to the healer.

 

“When can I leave?” he asked, his voice tight.

 

“I’d like to run a few tests, but, now that you’re awake, and since you’ve been here so long, long enough to heal, I’d say before the night is young.”

 

Draco nodded once, and the healer left as he returned his eyes to Hermione.

 

“I dreamt about you,” he whispered, one thumb tracing her lips, “They told me what happened.  Harry came by a few times, I guess.  He’s put together a few teams who are going to check the old spots.  My parents have increased the protection around their house.  It will be nigh impossible to get in there, especially now that they’ve cut off the Floo to their house.  I want to do the same thing.  I can’t have you in danger.  That was a specific attack, Hermione.  They were targeting us.”

 

“We can’t cut the Floo Network,” she sighed, shaking her head, “I can’t apparate, and if something happens, I need to be able to get here.”

 

Draco sighed, but he knew she was right.

 

“They told me it’s been nearly two weeks.”

 

“We thought you wouldn’t wake.  I was so scared,” she admitted, and then her face lit up, “Ginny had her baby.  His name is Albus Severus.  Anna and I have seen him a couple times.  He’s beautiful.  James is so excited to have a little brother.”

 

“We should pay them a visit.”

 

Hermione nodded in agreement and was about to speak again when the same healer that had worked with Hermione walked in.

 

“Emily,” Draco greeted with a smile, “How are you?”

 

“Better than you.  Good morning, Hermione.  Don’t look too worried.  You’ll be leaving in an hour at most.  I just need to check him over.”

 

Emily worked quickly, and, good to her wood, she was getting them all set at the front desk before long.

 

“I want you to take it easy and use this,” she said as a cane appeared from her wand, “until you feel comfortable without it.  Come see me in three weeks or earlier if you’re still in pain.  I want you to take the rest of the week off from work, and you can judge your comfort and pain level for Monday.  Otherwise, you’re all set.”

 

Emily saw them off with a smile, and they were just stepping out of their fireplace when there was a knock on the door.  Hermione went to get it as Draco made his way into the kitchen, his stomach grumbling in hunger.  Standing in the doorway was the minister, appointed almost immediately after the war was Rufus Scrimgeour’s son, Aeos1, then barely twenty, now twenty-eight; behind him stood Harry.

 

“To what do we owe this honor?” Hermione asked, catching Harry’s eye; he smiled.

 

“We were informed of your husband’s departure from St. Mungo’s.  We would like to speak with him,” Aeos said in a soft, kind voice.

 

Hermione nodded, showing them in, and Draco was just sitting at the island when they walked in.

 

“Aeos, Harry,” he greeted, and there was a moment of tense silence before Harry sighed.

 

“Draco, I’m sorry to bombard you already, but we need to get your account as soon as possible.  Is there somewhere we could take this?  And feel free to bring your lunch.”

 

“The deck would be good.  Would you like tea or lemonade?” Hermione asked, turning to Harry and the minister.

 

Once all was settled, Draco brought them out to the deck where they sat in the sun and Draco ate his sandwich while the other two sat in silence.  They only began talking when Hermione returned, and Harry brought out a quick quotes quill that floated alongside him.  Their conversation lasted nearly two hours, and, when they stood to leave, Aeos spoke quickly with Harry before thanking them and leaving.

 

“Thank you,” Harry sighed, “I really wish we didn’t have to do this today, but you know how it is.  We’ve finished searching the old spots, too, and there were no traces, though I didn’t think there would be.  oh, also,” Harry paused, shaking his head with a large smile on his face, “Your mother, Draco, came to my office a few days ago, all frantic and shaking.  I guess Dolohov tried to take her, and she nearly killed him.  She’d heard about what happened, obviously, and your father wasn’t home, but she went insane.  In the end, she locked him in that old dungeon, and he’s in Azkaban now.”

 

“My _mother_?” Draco asked in disbelief.

 

“She was quite angry.  She almost followed me back to the Ministry to make sure he would be seen off properly.”

 

“Wow.  I never would have expected that.”

 

When stillness fell then, Harry stood, “I better be going.  I need to get back to Ginny.  Aeos deemed it necessary I be here, but I really hate leaving her right now.”

 

“Give her my best, and tell her I’ll be popping by soon.”

 

“Congratulations,” Draco added, shaking Harry’s hand, “You must be so proud.”

 

“I am,” Harry nodded, beaming.

 

After a few more pleasantries, they showed him to the door, and Draco just pulled Hermione into his arms when they were alone.

 

“I think we should spend the rest of the day in bed.  I just want to hold you,” he whispered, and she couldn’t help but smile as she agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1Aeos is pronounced Aye-ohs (a long o and soft s).


	27. xxvii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was something that had been in the back of his mind for a while, especially because he so badly wanted to carry on the tradition that had gone throughout the entire Black family. He liked his name, and he’d always preferred the other-worldly feel that he felt it carried.

_xxvii._

_Set down your glass_

_I painted this_

_August eighth._

_2006._

Draco awoke early, which wasn’t uncommon for him.  They hadn’t set the alarm last night, and so he only glanced to the clok to find the time: eight forty.  Hermione slept soundly next to him on her back, and he turned on his side to face her, smiling at the way the morning sunlight barely reached her face but completely shone around her stomach.  His smile widened at this, and he flattened a hand against her cotton-clothed belly.  _His_ son was in there.  They hadn’t been told yet, but he was sure of it.  He just knew that there was a little baby boy waiting to grow.

 

He continued to watch his sleeping wife, mesmerized, until he finally noticed that she’d opened her eyes and was staring back at him.  He smiled when she laughed, a small, tinkling giggle, and he just had to kiss her.  She tried to say something, but he quickly silenced her, and she laughed harder, pushing him away playfully.

 

“I love you,” she finally got out, and he just smiled before kissing her again.

 

“I love you, too,” he whispered against her lips, “And you,” he added, kissing her belly.

 

“Stop,” Hermione whined, “That tickles.  Draco!”

 

He just continued kissing around her belly, even lifting up her t-shirt (that was actually _his_ ) and relishing in the soft feel of her skin.  She tried to swat him away until he shot her a brilliant smile, and she stopped, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows, flipping onto his stomach.

 

“We have to think of a name,” he murmured.

 

It was something that had been in the back of his mind for a while, especially because he so badly wanted to carry on the tradition that had gone throughout the entire Black family.  He liked his name, and he’d always preferred the other-worldly feel that he felt it carried.  Thankfully, Hermione read his mind, as she usually did.

 

“Do you want to carry on your family’s tradition?”

 

“Do you?” he asked quietly, trying to mask his smile.

 

“I know you want to,” she teased, pushing him, “I don’t know.  Is it just stars?”

 

“Stars, constellations, you name it.”

 

“Do you have any particulars in mind?”

 

“What about you?” he mumbled, burying his face in her hair, “I don’t want to make all the decisions.”

 

“How about,” she paused, and he knew she was smiling, “you pick the boy names and I’ll pick the girl names?  We’ll make a top three.  Ready, set, go.”

 

“Just like that?” he laughed, shaking his head when she nodded.

 

And so they bounced names off of each other for the next two hours until hunger finally drove them out of their bed and into the kitchen where Hermione lazily made them eggs, hash browns and peppers, and pancakes with bananas cooked into them.  Draco sliced strawberries into a bowl while they continued to think and voice their opinions.  Finally, though, Hermione turned.

 

“Anastasia, Aurora, and Dahlia, all with the middle name Jean.”

 

“Your middle name?”

 

“And my mother’s name.”

 

“True enough.  Okay, give me a few minutes, I’m assigning my middle names.”

 

Hermione laughed, but turned back to her cooking as he continued to think.  He only spoke again when they were sitting next to each other on the island, eating.

 

“Caelum Leto, Orion Crius, and Scorpius Hyperion.”

 

“Where in the world do you come up with these names?”

 

“ _Anastasia_ , Hermione?”

 

They stared at each other for a moment or two before falling into fits of laughter.  They finished their breakfast on the same topic, and their day carried out in the same manner.  They made their way into the backyard before long, stretched out on white lawn chairs and sipping lemonade.  They occasionally talked, though they mostly just enjoyed one another’s presence, wrapped up in love.

 

\--

 

_August fourteenth._

_2006._

Draco exited the shower that morning at eight o’clock, feeling refreshed and happy.  He was glad to be on his feet again and going to work, though he’d certainly enjoyed his week with Hermione.  She had decidedly taken the week off to be with him, and he would miss being away from her.

 

He pulled on a pair of boxers and dried his hair before going across the hall into their bedroom where Hermione was sitting on the floor, her back to him, in nothing but a bra and panties.  Draco arched an eyebrow and went to kneel before her to find her pouting with her arms crossed.  He smiled and kissed her forehead, softening her pout.

 

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, pushing a curl away from her face.

 

“I have to wear shorts if I’m wearing a dress, and I can’t get them on.”

 

“How can I help?”

 

Hermione sighed before holding out her hands.  Draco stood and, together, they got Hermione back on her feet.  She balanced her hands on his shoulders as he slipped her elastic-waist white shorts on.  She thanked him with a kiss before going to pull on her dress.  She headed out after that, and Draco just laughed before going to dress.  They ate breakfast together, parted ways for work, and they were happy.

 

\--

 

_November seventeenth._

_2006._

Draco was in the east wing of the second floor at the desk in the library, bent over a piece of parchment.  He was organizing a few things for work the following Monday, and he was nearly finished when Hermione’s voice echoed through the manor.

 

“ _Draco_!”

 

It took him a moment to pull himself out of his work, and, when he did, he frowned; he couldn’t be sure if he’d heard right.

 

“ _DRACO_!”

 

He jumped out of his chair and took off out of the library and toward the foyer stairs.  He barely touched the steps as he ran down them, and he pushed himself faster, swinging around the bottom of the stairs into the kitchen as Hermione shrieked for him again.  She’d gone outside to read as she liked watching the stars, and the deck was magically heated in the colder seasons.

 

He almost tripped in the kitchen before erupting onto the deck where Hermione was trying to struggle out of her lawn chair.  Draco took one look at her before helping her out of the chair and leading her back into the house.

 

“I’ll be right back,” he promised as she let go of him in the living room.

 

“Go,” she ordered when he hesitated, “I don’t want to sit.”

 

He nodded once before sprinting back upstairs.  Hermione had a half-packed bag that she kept beside their bed, and he flew around their room, tossing things in as he went.  He was about to leave and shut the light when something caught his eye: _Atonement_.  He’d just started reading it the week previous, and so it was sitting on his nightstand.  He smiled, grabbed the book, and left.

 

\--

 

It was four o’clock in the morning.  They’d arrived at St. Mungo’s around ten thirty, and it was finally calm.  Hermione lay in white sheets, sweat glistening on her face.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Draco whispered, kissing her forehead and pushing away her damp hair.

 

She smiled weakly up at him until the door opened, and they both looked over as Emily walked inn, a small blue bundle in her arms.  She delicately transferred their baby son into Hermione’s arms, and, as Hermione and Draco stared down at him, Emily smiled.

 

“What’s his name?” she asked softly.

 

“Scorpius Hyperion,” Hermione spoke confidently, surprising Draco.

 

They hadn’t truly settled on one name in particular, though he’d been hinting at this name for a while.  Emily left them, and Hermione only managed to stay awake another half hour before she wearily handed her son to her husband, drifting off with a smile.  Draco sat in one of the large, comfortable chairs by the window, cool grey eyes fixated on his tiny son.

 

Soft, downy blonde hair covered his head, much to his amazement.  He’d expected Hermione’s brunette mess, but he supposed there was always time for it to darken.  He shifted his gaze for a moment to look up at the twinkling night sky, trying to find Scorpius’ constellation, and, when he looked back down, bright blue eyes were staring up at him.  He took Draco’s breath away, and he couldn’t resist skimming his thumb across his little cheek.  He smiled, and he watched as Scorpius’ wide eyes followed his movements.  In the blink of an eye, he copied the expression, and then it was gone.  Draco could barely believe it.  He was a _father_.

 

\--

 

_November twentieth._

_2006._

Hermione thanked Emily, embracing her tightly, before she lifted Scorpius in his baby carrier.  Draco was at work, though she had a million different stops to make today.  She arrived first at Ginny’s house where Anna was visiting with Rose.

 

“Oh my God!” they both exclaimed as Hermione stepped out of the fireplace.

 

They cooed over Scorpius for the next hour, marveling at how quiet and wide-eyed he remained throughout their visit.

 

“He hasn’t cried once.  It’s so strange, but Emily said that Draco was the same way as a baby.”

 

“ _That_ makes sense,” Anna laughed, “He’s still like that.”

 

“I’m almost tempted to ask Narcissa if he continued to grow that way.  He’s such an angel, though it’s nerve-wracking sometimes.”

 

“I can only imagine,” Ginny sighed, “I _wish_ James would’ve been like that.  It’s like naming him after Harry’s father made him act like him.  Consequently enough, Albus is heavenly.  Go figure.”

 

The three women talked for a while until Scorpius fixed his gaze on Hermione, and she smiled before announcing her departure.  In the past three days, anytime he’d been hungry, wanted to be held, or anything of the such, he simply stared at her until she understood.  And, for whatever reason, she always did.

 

She stopped home to drop off her bag and feed him before Flooing over to her parents’ house.  Much to her surprise, Aeos had allowed her to connect her parents’ fireplace to the Network, though it could only be accessed from the manor.  She’d written them saying she was coming, though her arrival still caused her father to jump off the couch in surprise.

 

“Hermione dear,” he frowned, “You nearly…”

 

His eyes went wide as he took in the small carrier in her hand, and she nodded.

 

“Where’s mum?”

 

“Jean, come in here!” he called, ushering her over to the couch, “Oh, he’s beautiful, dear.”

 

“What is it?  Is everything okay?  Oh, Hermione!  Oh!” she nearly squeaked, “Is this Scorpius?”

 

“Do you want to hold him?”

 

“I would love to.  Oh my goodness, look how adorable he is.  And what an angel,” she cooed, taking him in her arms and going to sit in the armchair, “Hermione.”

 

“Yes, mum?” she laughed.

 

“Where’s Draco?  Work?  The poor boy.  I’m sure they won’t let him off anymore after those weeks he spent in the hospital.  How is he?”

 

“He’s great, really.  I’m sorry I didn’t come by earlier.  They only just let me out this morning, and I stopped by Ginny’s to say hello quickly.  I haven’t been by there in ages.”

 

“That’s quite alright, love.  He’s blonde.  I thought for sure he’d have your hair.”

 

“Emily said that the Malfoys are just prone to have blonde hair.  She said she’s never seen anything like it.  Even Narcissa, who was a Black and married in, is blonde.”

 

Hermione sat with her parents all the way into lunch, when they took her and Scorpius into the kitchen and whipped up something.  Hermione excused herself to her old room to feed her son when he once again turned his eyes on her.  She smiled, lifting him in her arms.

 

“Do you mind if I use my old room?” she asked, holding him close to her.

 

One of his little hands rested on her breast, and her smile widened as she looked down at him.  Her mother took this in, and immediately nodded, shooing her off.

 

“This is where I used to live,” she whispered, going over to her bed and pushing herself back enough so that she was leaning against the headboard, “Daddy never came in here, except the one time he came to pick me up for our vacation.  We went to Italy.  He proposed under the Bridge of Sighs,” she paused to settle Scorpius next to her before unbuttoning her shirt, “It was the most magical thing.  Someday, you’ll have a room of your own like this.  Well, I mean, it’ll be all decked out in what you want, but it’ll be all yours, just for my little Scorpius.”

 

She picked him back up again, smiling as he blinked up at her.  She couldn’t believe that he was really hers, this beautiful little baby.  Hermione closed her eyes, and just sat in silence, Scorpius nuzzled close to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.


	28. xxviii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco watched the memory float in the Pensieve, and he sighed once more before lowering his face to it. He was dropped into the Forbidden Forest, and he looked to his left where Dolohov stood, one hand braced on a tree.

_xxviii._

_To look like you and me forever as we’re now_

_November twenty-eighth._

_2006._

_As they came out of the copse they heard bombers, so they went back in and smoked while they waited under the trees.  From where they were they could not see the planes, but the view was fine.  These were hardly hills that spread so expansively before them.  They were ripples in the landscape, faint echoes of vast upheavals elsewhere.  Each successive ridge was paler then the one before.  He saw a receding wash of gray and blue fading in a haze toward the setting sun, like something oriental on a dinner plate._ 1

Draco pushed a stubborn lock of pale blonde hair away from his forehead before shifting his feet a little.  He’d finished his paperwork early, and he had to go check on one of the rooms in a few minutes, but he’d had a moment or two to spare.

 

_Half an hour later they were making a long traverse across a deeper slope that edged further to the north and delivered them at last to another valley, another little stream._ 1

 

He looked up, grey eyes unfocused for just a minute until he registered the beautiful woman standing before him.

 

“I remember that look,” she murmured softly, leaning against his doorway and arching a perfectly curved brown eyebrow.

 

He smirked, dog-eared his page, and went over to her, pulling her into an inviting and warm kiss.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, smiling as Hermione stayed in his arms, her own looped around his neck.

 

“I’m on my lunch break, and I wanted to stop by, see if maybe you were free for lunch.”

 

“If you don’t mind hanging out in here—” he paused as she kissed him distractingly, “I just need—need to—”

 

His words fell away as Hermione continued to kiss him, and he pulled her closer to him, gripping her tightly.  He so missed the feel of her.

 

“Mm, Draco,” she purred, pulling away and leaning back in his arms, “Not right now.  What do you have to do?”

 

He stared at her, mouth open and eyes dark.  She brought him back with a peck on the cheek, and he smiled, closing his eyes briefly.

 

“I have to go check on a few things, then I can go with you.  Wait for me in here?”

 

“I might go visit Harry and Ron, actually, if that’s okay.  I haven’t seen them in forever.”

 

“Yea, of course.  I’ll meet you outside by Dumbledore’s statue?”

 

“Sure.”  
  


They parted with a bit of a long kiss before Draco headed out of his office.  Hermione took a left while he continued straight, slipping through a maze of hallways that only the Unspeakables could move through unscathed.  He stopped in front of a door and ran his finger along the crack between it and the wall, and it swung open as it recognized his touch.  One of his colleagues was in here, and he greeted Draco with a curt nod before going back to his work.

 

He went over to a small pool in the back of the room, and he flicked through the rows of vials sitting atop it before he stopped at one, and he sighed, fingers resting on it before he shook his head, tapped the vial, and it expanded into an array of Antonin Dolohov’s memories.  The curiosity had been eating away at him for some time now, and he’d already searched Yaxley’s memories for any trace of how they might have known.

 

He and Hermione hadn’t exactly been quiet about their lives, though they certainly hadn’t publicized much, and they’d politely asked the _Daily Prophet_ to refrain from giving them any headlines.  A little glare from Hermione had made sure they didn’t, and they understood why.  There were still followers out there, and, even then, right after the war, he’d done everything in his power to keep her out of harm’s way.

 

Draco watched the memory float in the Pensieve, and he sighed once more before lowering his face to it.  He was dropped into the Forbidden Forest, and he looked to his left where Dolohov stood, one hand braced on a tree.

 

“We have to go,” someone said from behind him, touching his shoulder, and Draco turned, recognizing Yaxley.

 

“In a moment,” Dolohov returned sharply, never removing his eyes from the castle.

 

Draco moved his gaze up to it.  The flames had long been extinguished.  All that remained now was a crumbling Hogwarts and a mourning people.  He frowned.  He hated this.

 

“ _Dolohov_ ,” Yaxley spat, “We have to go.”

 

“Do you see that?”

 

“See what?” Yaxley’s voice was tired, angry.

 

“By the Black Lake.  Who does that look like?”

 

“Draco Malfoy, why?”

 

Draco’s eyes widened, and his heart sunk.  He turned his stony grey eyes to the Black Lake where, sure enough, he was standing.  Hermione hadn’t turned yet, though he’d stopped a second away from her.  He remembered being so unsure of what to say, and he suddenly understood.  This moment had targeted them.

 

He watched Hermione turn, and she spoke his name, just his name.  He watched as he embraced her, and he felt like he’d been hollowed out as Dolohov pointed his wand at them and, suddenly, Dolohov’s thoughts entered his mind.  He could hear their conversation.  Draco didn’t know what spell he’d used, though he’d cast it non-verbally.

 

“I love you,” he heard himself say, and he inhaled sharply as Hermione returned the sentiment, whispering his name once more.

 

“God, I’ve missed you,” he said, and then, Draco had to reach out to grip the tree to keep from falling, “I’ve missed you so much, Hermione.”

 

Dolohov smirked, and his thoughts left Draco’s mind.

 

“Are you done?” Yaxley growled, and Dolohov just nodded before turning away.

 

Draco pulled himself out of the memory, hands gripping either side of the Pensieve.  He could barely breathe.

 

\--

 

“I think he’s been looking into the Death Eaters memories.  At least, those that we have in Azkaban now.  They keep them in the Department of Mysteries,” Harry said with a shrug, “They didn’t want to keep them over here, I think because they have a space there, and they have trained watchers or something.  I’m not really sure.”

 

“But why would he want to look at their memories?” Hermione asked, frowning and crossing her arms.

 

She was standing in the middle of Harry’s office while Harry sat at his desk, arms folded across the wooden structure; Ron stood by the large window, looking out.

 

“He wants to know how they found out about everything.  I mean, I know you guys asked the _Prophet_ not to put out anything like headlines, and Ron and I did that, too, but he’s freaking out about it.  He just couldn’t figure out how they knew that he’d married you.  Look, Hermione, all I know is he’s been working very carefully to keep you away from harm’s way, to keep you out of sight of people that may report back to Voldemort’s old followers, those that are still romping around.  Come in!” he called as there was a knock on the door.

 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Draco said with a forced smile, “I figured you’d be here still.”

 

“Sorry, I got a little side-tracked,” Hermione admitted as she turned halfway, “I guess I’ll see the pair of you later.  We should do dinner again.”

 

She left them with a wave before following a very pale Draco outside, and she frowned, slipping her hand within his.

 

“What’s wrong?  You look sick.”

 

“It’s nothing.  Just some of the Unspeakables are a little out of whack.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, though she knew he was lying.

 

“It’s not your fault.  So, where are we going for lunch?”

 

\--

 

_December ninth._

_2006._

Hermione awoke with a start, panic settling deep in her stomach as her eyes opened to an empty spot next to her.  She was about to scramble out of bed when she noticed a small bundle on top of Draco’s chest.  He was wearing a white cotton t-shirt, which was unusual, and he was still fast asleep.  She relaxed, and she turned her gaze over Scorpius, his thumb in his mouth and breathing softly.  He had continued to amaze her when he slept through the night nearly every single time.  He hated noise at night, though, and they’d first heard him cry that very night when they’d forgotten to silence their room.

 

Draco let out a soft noise, and Hermione flicked her brown eyes back up to him to find he’d woken.

 

“Hey,” she murmured, and Draco looked to her, smiling, “You have a shirt on.”

 

“Yea, I thought he’d be more comfortable.  You should have seen him.  I woke up at, like, three and went to use the loo.  When I came back, he was squirming around, and he just stared at me when I went to get back in.  So I grabbed a shirt, and he went back to sleep.”

 

Hermione’s smile widened, and Draco looked down as a small hand tapped his chest.

 

“He’s trying to find you.  He woke up when you started talking.”

 

Hermione carefully lifted their son off and laid him on his belly in between them.  He faced Draco, and his tiny little smile flickered in response to his father’s.

 

“He’s so perfect, Hermione,” Draco sighed, “Look what you’ve created.”

 

Hermione laughed, “It wasn’t just me.  He’s a spitting image of you.  Beautiful grey eyes, soft blonde hair, and all.”

 

Draco just shook his head and laughed before giving Scorpius a kiss on the forehead, leaning over to kiss Hermione on the mouth, and then he sat up, cracking his back.

 

“I’m hungry.  I’m gonna cook breakfast, okay?  You stay in bed with Scorp.  I’ll be back in a bit.”

 

“Breakfast in bed, huh?” Hermione smirked.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

He left them to go downstairs, and he worked in silence.  He made his way around the kitchen, cooking up large Belgian waffles and banana pancakes.  He topped them with strawberry syrup and cut strawberries before filling two glasses of orange juice, two mugs of coffee, and then levitating everything back upstairs.  He entered their bedroom only to find Hermione and Scorpius gone.  Confused, he checked the bathroom, and then went over to the east wing where he found them in the library.  Hermione looked up as he walked in, and she smiled over at him.

 

“He was getting restless, and he refused to eat, so I tried bringing him in here,” she said with a shrug.

 

Scorpius was snuggled against her chest while she sat on the plush loveseat, and Draco just stood there for a moment, watching them.  This was his family.

 

\--

 

_August first._

_2007._

Ginny smiled as Scorpius raced across the room, hell-bent on reaching the door as it opened.

 

“Woah!” Draco exclaimed, stopping in the doorway, “He’s getting fast.”

 

“He totally knows when you are supposed to be here.  He starts freaking out, like—”

 

“Dada!” Scorpius cut her off, pushing himself up onto his knees and holding up his arms.

 

A stream of sounds and syllables burst from his little mouth, and Draco laughed before scooping him up.

 

“Where’s Hermione?” Ginny asked as Scorpius continued to babble on, hitting Draco on his collarbone and shoulder.

 

“She was held up with Isabel.  I guess she was freaking out about something, and she and Anna were trying to calm her down.  I stopped by to see if she was ready, but the place was all a ruckus.  Thanks for watching him.”

 

“As always, no problem.  He and Albus had a fun time.  James tried to put him on the broom, thank God he couldn’t figure out how to.  He and Rose had a slap fight, too.  _That_ was interesting.”

 

“A slap fight?” Draco asked tentatively, going to sit next to her as Scorpius finally quieted and rested his head on Draco’s chest.

 

“Nothing too serious.  Just slapping each other’s hands.  Scorpius got angry after a little while and crawled away.  Rose still hasn’t really figured out how to crawl.  She just slides on her belly still.  Ron’s so frustrated; it’s hilarious.”

 

Draco arched an eyebrow, and Ginny rolled her eyes, “You know how my brother is.  He wants his kids to be Weasley stars, and you and Hermione essentially have the genes to create a badass child, and you did, and he’s all grumbling about how Scorpius is flying around and Rose is still worming her way.”

 

Draco just shrugged; he’d heard this before.  Ron was always a little jealous, and he knew it partly had to do with the fact that he’d taken Hermione from him, or so Ron put it.  Said Weasley arrived then, with Harry in tow.  Hermione was a few steps behind them, shaking her head at something Anna was saying.

 

“Mama!” Scorpius screamed, and Draco laughed as he squirmed around until he set him on the ground, and he took off, only stopping for a moment when he accidentally knocked into Harry’s leg.

 

Hermione cooed something to him that Draco couldn’t hear, lifting him in her arms and making a happy face at him to which he responded with gurgling and smiling.  She hugged him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and her eyes next settled on Draco.

 

She was radiant, simply glowing.  She looked like this a lot, at least to him.  Whenever she was with her two men, she was always happy, always ecstatic with the way her life had gone.  She couldn’t imagine anything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.
> 
> I hope I’m doing Scorpius justice. I found this awesome little baby timeline thing. It shows the progression of an infant from birth to twelve months, and it’s really handy. So, a lot of the things, I’m taking from there and going along with what I think Scorpius might have been like as a baby. That said, I hope it’s realistic. I’m trying my very hardest!


	29. xxix.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course someone had known. It only made sense. Draco’s hands balled into fists again, and he angrily pushed himself up off the floor, sweeping up his jacket as he went. He stepped into the fire and was stepping out again at the Ministry. His steps were quick and purposeful as he passed through the front lobby. He took the elevator and went up instead of down.

_xxix._

_And I’m shaking_

_Then I’m still_

_August sixth._

_2006._

Draco glared at the gateway that loomed in front of him, and he pulled his jacket closer to him as he approached.  It was always cold here, something he’d learned very quickly when the Dementors had invaded his house before the final battle.  He hated the sight of them, hated even the thought of them, but he had to do this.

 

“I knew you’d come.”

 

His voice was rough, and Draco could tell he’d suffered while he was here.  A sneer touched his lips, one he hadn’t allowed in almost a decade, but it burst through now in disgust and hatred.  Antonin Dolohov sat in the corner of his cell, legs spread out in front of him, and his face was haggard and hollow-looking.  Draco stayed by the doorway, and he felt the ghost of a Dementor pass behind him.  He shuddered.

 

“You never had much courage when you were younger.  I see you still lack a backbone.”

 

Draco curled his fingers into fists, and his jaw was rigid as he glared at the man in front of him.  Dolohov sighed and stood, quite leisurely and in a very relaxed manner.  He’d been here before; that much was obvious.  He stretched, cracked his back, and took a few steps in Draco’s direction.

 

“How’s your Mudblood?”

 

Draco refused to respond.  He instead stared at Dolohov with stormy grey eyes, fury pumping in his veins and anger wrapping its dangerous hold around him.  He kept his hands by his side; it would do him no good to curse Dolohov and end up in court.  It was his decision to come, after all.

 

“I heard you have a son now.  _Scorpius Hyperion_ ,” he tried the name out slowly, tongue loping around the syllables, “Your father must be _so_ proud,” he drawled on, stepping closer, “A Mudblood and a half-blood tainting the family.  How wonderful.  Marrying into Muggle in-laws.  _Excellent_ , Draco.  Everyone always knew you’d end up this way, on your knees for filth.”

 

“How did you know?” Draco snapped, and his wand was out in seconds, keeping Dolohov at a distance.

 

He kept it hidden, just beneath his robes, though the Death Eater was no fool.

 

“The Black Lake, right after that Potter boy destroyed all hope we ever had.  And then you went running right back into the arms of that _scum_ ,” he spat, glaring, “You handed us over.  Bravo, Draco.  What do you even see in her?  It’s not as if she’s _pretty_.”

 

“She’s beautiful,” Draco hissed, his temper starting to get the better of him.

 

“Oh, _beautiful_?” Dolohov shrieked, catching the attention of a Dementor.

 

It made its way down the long hallway toward them as Dolohov continued, “Well, goodness, if I’d had known she was _beautiful_ , then I never would have gone after you!  What kind of idiot do you make me for, Malfoy?” he roared, stepping right up to him and gripping his chin in between his thumb and forefinger; his nose was practically touching Draco’s.

 

“She’s a filthy fucking Mudblood,” Dolohov growled darkly, “She is nothing better than another useless object.  I’d kill her if I were you, and rid myself of that bastard son, as well.  Purify the Black name once again, and save yourself.”

 

The incantation was on the tip of Draco’s tongue when a long-fingered black hand drew him away, and Dolohov laughed madly, backing into his cell.  The Dementor pushed through, and Dolohov sunk to the ground, his laughter echoing in Draco’s head as he stood there, shaken.  He had to get out of here.

 

He pushed himself forward, forcing his feet to carry him away from Azkaban, past the gates, and he apparated into his bathroom at home.  He sunk before the toilet and let up his lunch violently, his body convulsing as he replayed the conversation in his head.  He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he finished, and he spat before flushing and stumbling off.  He tore out of his jacket and was fumbling to unbutton his vest when his knees gave way, and he sunk to the floor of the bathroom, sobbing.  He pressed his hands to his face, shoulders hunched.  Someone was feeding Dolohov information.  Someone else knew.

 

Of course someone had known.  It only made sense.  Draco’s hands balled into fists again, and he angrily pushed himself up off the floor, sweeping up his jacket as he went.  He stepped into the fire and was stepping out again at the Ministry.  His steps were quick and purposeful as he passed through the front lobby.  He took the elevator and went up instead of down.  When he reached the second level, he carried on through the hallway until he was met with Harry’s door, and he entered without knocking.

 

“Draco,” Harry said, looking up from his desk, “Is everything okay?”

 

“We have to talk,” he said, and his eyes finally settled on Ron, “I think you should be here, too.”

 

Ron nodded, not moving.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Draco opened his mouth to begin before shaking his head and frowning.  It was a moment before he could say anything.

 

“Dolohov knew,” he finally started, pacing, “He knew.  I looked through his memories, and I found one from the Black Lake, and he _heard_ , Harry, he heard me say her name and he saw us together.  And he planned that attack.  When he came after me in the Ministry, he told me that ‘she will never taint the pureblood line.’  I…” Draco trailed off, and he stopped his pacing, turning away from Harry and Ron, “I went to Azkaban.  I had to know, for sure.  Someone else knows,” he finally faced them, and Ron wore a look of shock while Harry just seemed calm, “Someone has been feeding him information.  He knows about Scorpius.”

 

A heavy silence fell over the room, and it was a few minutes before anyone dared speak.  Harry cleared his throat and pushed his chair back.

 

“Did you hurt him _at all_?” he asked quietly, staring at the blonde.

 

“I did not.”

 

He kept the rest to himself.

 

“Ron, make up a list of all known Death Eaters that ever had any connection to Dolohov.  Go through the testimonies, see if anyone at all mentioned his name.  _Anyone_.  Draco, have you told Hermione?” he continued as Ron left them.

 

“I haven’t.”

 

“Okay, go to Flourish and Blotts.  Have Hermione go back to my house, and tell her not to leave.  Here,” he paused to scribble something onto a piece of paper, “Have her give this to Ginny.”

 

He looked down; it was an incantation.  When he went to question him, Harry just shook his head.

 

“Not a word about it,” he demanded, “Go.  Meet me by the statue in a half hour.”

 

Draco just nodded before disappearing from his office.

 

\--

 

Draco pushed through the door to Flourish and Blotts, and a thin girl with blonde hair greeted him with a smile which he didn’t return.  He stormed through the store, eyes flicking through the shelves.  He finally spotted her at the end of one, leaning against it with her back turned to him.  He reached and touched her shoulder, causing her to jump.  When she turned, he put a finger to her lips, took her hand, and they were gone with a crack.

 

When they reappeared at Harry’s house, Hermione kept her mouth shut until they’d hurried inside.

 

“Draco!  Hermione!  You’re here early!” Ginny exclaimed as she exited the kitchen, “What—”

 

Draco cut her off, handing her the paper.  She took one look at it and left back into the kitchen.  A few moments later, she returned, shaking her head.

 

“It’s safe to talk.  Do you remember making this?” she asked, flashing the paper to Hermione.

 

“I do.  We started working on it right after the war.  It’s one of the strongest protection charms I’ve ever seen,” she explained to Draco, “It took the three of us, Harry, Ron, and me, to come up with it and work through creating it.”

 

She stopped, however, as a shrill cry broke through the house, and she blinked.  She knew that cry, but it didn’t make sense.  Scorpius never cried.  Draco was already turning away and hurrying up the stairs when it registered that he only cried when he was afraid.  Eyes wide, she dashed after her husband and found him lifting Scorpius up in his arms.  His pale grey eyes were wide and filled with tears, and he clung to Draco’s neck, terrified.

 

“What happened?” Hermione asked, going over to them and frowning.

 

“I don’t know.  He looked like he just woke up and started crying.  Hermione, I have to go.  I need to meet Harry back at the Ministry.  I’ll explain, I promise, but you have to stay here.”

 

“Is this about Dolohov?” she asked as he handed Scorpius to her, and she sighed as he nodded, “Be careful.  _Please_.  Don’t put me through that again.”

 

They parted with a kiss, and Draco quickly hugged Ginny as he came to the bottom of the stairs.  They didn’t speak as he left, and Draco just ran a hand through his pale blonde hair, walking down her gravel driveway.  He could see the edge of the charm, and he sighed.  He crossed it, and was instantly ambushed.

 

He heard the hex before it hit him, and he threw up a shield charm, falling to his knees as the curse rebounded off his charm.  He jumped up, firing a nasty curse back at his attacker.  There were three, and he managed to hold his ground, deflecting their hexes and shooting his own.  He stunned one of them so hard that the hooded man flew backward, and he was just hissing as a spell grazed his arm, slicing right through his clothes and opening a gash in his arm.  Anger shot through him, and he muttered a hex he’d pushed into the far recesses of his mind.

 

“ _Sectumsempra_!”

 

Harry had used it on him, long ago, and he remembered knowing he was going to die the second it hit him.  He watched the man crumble to the ground, his blood flowing freely as deep wounds erupted in him.

 

“Pity,” the man gurgled as his friend weakly deflected a curse from Draco, “I would have liked to see your son die.”

 

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

 

The spell shot through him too fast for him to control it.  So many years ago, when he’d been given the order to kill Albus Dumbledore, he’d quavered at the thought.  Even during the last battle, when he’d taken the offence against all those he’d always claimed loyalty, he’d only stunned, he had never killed.

 

But this was his family.  He barely even spared the man a glance as he fell silent and still, and he disarmed his friend and wound ropes around him before he could disapparate.

 

“Who are you?” he snarled, stomping forward and tearing off his mask.

 

Thorfinn Rowle stared back up at him, and Draco sneered in disgust.  Typical.  He moved to their other fallen friend, and he yanked his wand out of his hand, roped him, and pulled off his mask.  Victor Avery, one of the first Death Eaters that had ever joined Voldemort’s ranks back when he was just starting his rampage through the wizarding world.  Draco just looked down at him for a moment before slowly making his way back over to the man that he had killed.  The thought rang in his mind; he’d _killed_ him.  He tugged off his mask, and was met by the snarling face of Walden Macnair.

 

A loud crack made him turn, his wand lifting, and he instantly threw up a shield charm before he recognized Harry and Ron, and lowered it.

 

“What happened?” Harry asked softly, looking around.

 

“Two stunned,” Draco said, motioning toward the roped men, “Rowle and Avery.  No, not the Avery you’re thinking.  I recognize him.  Aunt Bella used to tell me about him, and I saw him once at one of Voldemort’s meetings.  He was a friend of his, back when they went to school.  The other is Macnair.”

  
“Dead?” Harry asked, and Draco dropped his gaze, “We’ll talk about it.  Stay here.”

 

Harry disappeared only to reappear a few moments later, two Aurors in tow.

 

“Ron, can you go with them?  Come back here.  I’ll have Ginny dispel the charm.”

 

Ron just nodded before going to take Macnair.  Harry and Draco made their way back to the house in silence, and it was only when they reached the door that Harry stopped him, green meeting grey.

 

“Why?”

 

“He was going to go after Scorpius.”

 

Harry sighed, though Draco could see that he understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Well, wasn’t that intense, :D
> 
> Also. I’m going on vacation tomorrow morning, and I won’t be back until Thursday night. I won’t have reception, so if I don’t answer your reviews until Thursday, don’t be offended. That said, I might also have to get my laptop fixed over vacation because the screen has gone all wonky. In that case, I’ll only have access to the home desktop, and there’s five people in my house, so who knows how well that’ll go over. Overall, I just may have sparse activity on the site for a week or so. I will continue updating, though!


	30. xxx.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He left wet, open-mouthed kisses around her neck. He loved how soft and inviting she was, and he wanted so much of her. He missed being so intimate and close with her.

_xxx._

_When your eyes meet mine_

_I lose simple skills_

_August thirteenth._

_2007._

Draco sighed and rubbed his brow.  He was pacing around his study, a restless Scorpius in his arms.  Draco had been finding it hard to sleep lately; everytime he closed his eyes, Dolohov’s haunting face and echoing laugh pierced through him.  The first few times, he went into Scorpius’ room and just sat in his rocking chair, comfortable in the presence of his sleeping son.  However, he noticed that within minutes of his arrival recently, Scorpius would awaken.  The first time, he watched in wonder when he rolled around for a bit before pulling himself up and catching Draco’s eye.

 

“Dada!” he would whine, reaching up his arms and grabbing at air.

 

Of course, he wasn’t used to standing yet, and so he would tumble back onto his bum.  Now, Draco took to pacing as Scorpius slept against him, sucking on his thumb.  Draco loved to have him in his arms, to feel the soft brush of his blonde hair, the whisper of his baby skin, and the murmur of his lips as let out little noises here and there.  He loved the feel of him, how tiny and fragile he was.  He smiled at this thought, and he pressed a small kiss to his temple.  This was _his_ son.  He could barely believe he’d created something so beautiful and amazing.

 

It surprised him sometimes when he would watch Scorpius zoom around and listen to him babble about, and he just marveled at how wonderful his son was.  His son, the one that Hermione had given him.  Sometimes he had to stop and smile.  If someone had told him that she would be his wife and the love of his life when he was younger, he would have fallen over in shock.  Thinking back, he still wished sometimes he’d found her earlier, but he knew she was right.  They wouldn’t be together had things not started in their sixth year.  Even thinking back to then, he was still surprised at how he’d acted.  With any other girl, he had never been so reserved of more intimate actions, though he also certainly hadn’t held as much respect as he did for Hermione.  And really had.  Even when he couldn’t stand the sight of her, he’d still acknowledged just how great she was.

 

Scorpius stirred a little, turning his head so that he faced Draco’s neck, and the older man smiled.  He felt so lucky to be able to help him grow, to be married to the most amazing woman he’d ever met.  He thought of her, asleep without him by her side, and he sighed.  Harry had settled it with Aeos as self-defense, and he had quietly explained Macnair’s death threat against Scorpius.  He was so fearful of watching him get older, knowing he would constantly be a way to hurt Draco and his family.  Just because he’d found love in someone without _pure blood_ would mark Scorpius for the rest of his life.

 

He frowned and stopped his pacing.  These kinds of thoughts were not helping his insomnia.  He sighed and turned to leave, but Hermione was sitting on the couch, her eyes heavy, and her head lying turned away from him.  He smiled and went to kiss her on the cheek, bringing her out of her small slumber.  He held out his hand, and she took it, following him out of the library.

 

He laid Scorpius back in his crib while Hermione waited for him downstairs, and she kissed away his worries when he returned.  She whispered his name as he pulled her into him, breathing her in and cherishing the feel of her in his arms.  He captured her lips again, and it was like the first time they’d ever kissed, late at night and beautifully simple.  He felt the same need for her then as he did now, and she pulled him toward their bedroom, hands trailing over his muscled back and shoulders.  His name fell from her lips again, and he lifted her against the wall.  She wrapped her legs around him, and he sighed, sliding his hands up her bare thighs.

 

He left wet, open-mouthed kisses around her neck.  He loved how soft and inviting she was, and he wanted so much of her.  He missed being so intimate and close with her.

 

He backed away from the wall and carried her to the bed, never breaking away from her hungry lips.  He slipped off her night clothes, just panties and one of his t-shirts, in two fluid movements before stepping out of his own and meeting her again in a beautiful, blossoming kiss.  She sighed suddenly, wanting to be as close as possible to him.  He captured her open mouth quickly again when she parted in a bruising kiss, and they were one.

 

\--

 

Draco awoke at seven the next morning, and he stretched in the beautiful morning light.  He smiled as Hermione stirred against him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her.  She awoke with a small laugh, snuggling into him.

 

“I love you,” he whispered, though he smirked as Hermione’s fingers danced around his bare skin.

 

“And I love you,” she purred, exhaling a hot breath onto his skin.

 

He pulled her closer, and she gasped as he turned her chin up to kiss her fiercely.

 

Draco was pretty sure he’d never gone to work so happy.  He greeted Harry and Ron when he saw them in the lobby, and he was just entering his department when one of his colleagues approached him.

 

“New Unspeakable, Malfoy.  She’s _hot_.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes and continued on; he didn’t like most of the people he worked with as they were usually abrasive or disturbing.  He entered his office, and he murmured a quick hello to the blonde woman sitting at the chair across from his desk.  Over the years, he’d slowly climbed his way to the top, and he had received head of the department just a year ago.  However, with such a title meant that he had to work with this new woman.

 

“I’m sorry for just being here.  I was told to wait for you.”

 

“It’s fine.  How are you?” he asked politely, looking up at her as he set his jacket on a hook and went to sit at his desk.

 

“Very well, Mister Malfoy.”

 

Her voice changed, and Draco sighed.  She looked much more eager to be here now that she recognized him.  He ignored it and went on to talk to her about the commitment of being an Unspeakable and the intensity of the department.  When he finished, he led her around, and it was toward the end of his tour that she was finally beginning to grate on his nerves.  She drank in his every word hungrily, and she stood closely by him at all times; she actually tried to _flirt_ with him.

 

He sighed when noon finally came, and he straightened from showing her how to work something.

 

“Well, you have a half hour lunch break.  You can take it whenever you want, usually.  I’ll be gone for an hour.”

 

“Do you usually go into London or Diagon Alley for lunch?” she asked, following him right into his office; he knew what was coming next.

 

He sighed, “It depends.  Come in!”

 

A smile jumped to his face as Hermione entered, and Scorpius let out a giggle, reaching for Draco.

 

“Daddy!” he cried, and Draco just laughed, going over to kiss Hermione on the cheek and Scorpius on the head.

 

“What’s he doing here?  And when did he start saying daddy?”

 

“Recently.  I kept trying to leave, and he kept screaming, so I thought it’d be nice to take him along.  Am I interrupting?” she finished, her voice turning a little hostile as her smile slipped away from happy to polite.

 

“Not at all,” Draco smirked, catching the switch, “Chelsea, a half hour.”

 

He motioned toward the door, and she blinked a moment before stalking out, confusion wrinkling her brow.  Hermione arched an eyebrow, and Draco almost snorted.

 

“She’s like a freaking puppy.  God, I hate, hate, hate when we get new Unspeakables and they tell them I’m single.  Honestly.  Did I tell you they did that to a _guy_?”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Just ignore them.  Where do you want to go for lunch?”

 

“Maybe we could have a little picnic at home?  I kind of want to set him free in the yard.  I think it would be a fun experiment.”

 

“Yea, except last time you tried that, he crawled around squishing every bug he came upon.”

 

“Oh, c’mon, he’s adorable when he squishes bugs.  Aren’t you?” he added to Scorpius, smiling down at his son.

 

Scorpius let out a happy gurgle, clapping his hands together, and Draco just grazed his thumb along his cheek before going to gather his jacket.

 

“I don’t know why in the world you wear that thing during the summer,” Hermione noted, as she usually did.

 

“Because it’s professional,” he always responded.

 

He walked with her out of the Department of Mysteries, and they chatted through the halls, the lobby, and even as they were stopping in front of the fireplace.  Their conversation just continued as they stepped out into their living room and made their way into the kitchen.  Draco took Scorpius and played patty-cake with him on his lap while leaning against the island while he sat on a stool, and they only moved when Hermione floated a basket full of food in front of her.  Draco followed into their backyard where he conjured up a blanket, set Scorpius down on it to crawl around, and shrugged out of his jacket, leaving it back on the porch.

 

\--

 

_August sixteenth._

_2007._

“Draco, can I speak with you a moment?”

 

Draco looked up at the voice, instantly nodding as he recognized Aeos.  He stood to leave, but the Minister waved his hand and entered the office, taking the chair across from his desk.

 

“So, as you know, the Ministry used to hold an annual end of the summer ball as a celebration of the past three months and one last break before the hectic atmosphere of the fall that is sure to ensue.  I’d like to bring back this tradition as it’s been dead for nearly a decade now, what with the war and all.  I’ve come to you because I’d like to ask if your wife might be interested in putting it together.  Being a Malfoy, I’m sure she’s had plenty experience with these types of things, especially with your mother.  I’ve also asked Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Potter if they’d like to help.  Let me know, alright?”

 

Aeos was already up and leaving before Draco thought to respond.  And his boss was gone before he could even utter a word.  Draco sighed before groaning, letting his head fall onto the desk.  How was he ever going to explain this to Hermione?

 

“I see you got the news,” a familiar voice grumbled as his door closed again, nearly as silently as it’d opened.

 

“Harry,” he greeted, “What the hell is he thinking?”

 

“That he wants to put the war behind us.  We’ve all grown up now, Draco, and he wants to start a new future.”

 

“ _Now_?  Bit late, don’t you think?”

 

Harry smirked and sat down, “He’s been doing a lot of this lately.  He’s trying to look good.  I already owled Ginny, told her it would probably be best to just tickle his fancies.”

 

“And when would this tickling occur?”

 

“That’s what he keeps forgetting to mention,” Harry said, leaning forward, “In three weeks.”

 

“ _Three_ weeks?  And he wants the ladies to get this whole thing together by then?  Is there anyone else involved?”

 

“I think someone from your department.  Chelsea?  Does that ring a bell?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Draco growled, and Harry shot his eyebrows up in response, “She is the most annoying… _bitch_ I have ever met.  She never leaves me alone.”

 

“I’ll talk to Aeos.  Oh, by the way, I keep meaning to stop in and tell you, Ginny’s pregnant again.”

 

“No way!” Draco exclaimed, smiling widely, “How long?”

 

“Almost two months.  We just found out about a week ago.  I’m sure she’ll be telling Hermione soon.”

 

“That son of a bitch,” a high, tight voice ground out as a quite flustered woman stepped out of the fireplace.

 

“Speak of the devil,” Draco sighed, turning to his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Also! Don’t forget: we only have five chapters left!
> 
> I just want to take a moment to thank everyone that has reviewed. This chapter is going up a day early because wow. Over four hundred reviews and nearly 50,000 reads. You guys are insane. Sometimes, I just am amazed by how wonderful my reviewers are. I’ve always been a little crazy when it comes to this site because I just love how friendly everyone is, and this story has definitely solidified my love over and over again for this site. Thank you, thank you for reading and reviewing. It means more than the world to me, :)


	31. xxxi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Files sat there, files of Death Eaters, and they looked as though they’d been recently rifled through. Draco lifted them, skimming through, and there was one glaring file missing. Dolohov. Draco’s heart thumped in his chest as he looked up from the files, frantic. He quickly shoved them back in the drawer and slammed it shut before racing out of the room and down the hall. Ron’s office wasn’t far; they could still be here.

_xxxi._

_Like to tell you all I want is now_

_August thirtieth._

_2007._

“Three weeks, and he wants us to host a ball,” Hermione snorted, rifling through their RSVPs and checking off names on the guest list.  “Honestly, he’s insane.”  She continued to rant, Ginny and Anna occasionally adding bits and pieces here and there.

 

“I think it’s going to be fun,” Chelsea said quietly, suddenly, not looking up.  The three women stopped and stared at her, leaving Chelsea to grasp for an explanation quite hurriedly, “No, really, I mean just think about it.  We get to all dress up and dance around with attractive men.”

 

“Is Pansy coming?” Anna cut her off, waving a hand dismissively at the younger girl.

 

“Oh, I didn’t tell you about this conversation?”  Hermione laughed humorlessly when they shook their heads.  “I asked him if Pansy could help us set everything up, and he said that he wanted the best friends of the one Hermione Granger to be helping and only them.  When I told him that that would normally include Pansy, he scoffed and told me, quite passionately, that she was in _Slytherin_ , darling, and she hated our precious Golden Trio during our school days.  I almost killed him.”

 

“Was Draco nearby to restrain you?” Ginny laughed.

 

“Your husband, actually.  He won’t let me alone with Aeos after the last time he tried to insult someone I knew.”

 

“What happened?” Chelsea gasped, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

“She almost hexed him, and then Ron saw her and started throwing a fit.”

 

“I had my wand between his eyes when Ronald noticed.  It was quite the event.”

 

“I’m sure it was terrifying for him.”  The four gathered stiffened at the voice, unfamiliar and hostile.  Hermione slowly lifted her eyes, and a surging, uncontrollable panic arose in her.  Antonin Dolohov stood there, right there in her kitchen, with Scorpius limp in his arms.  Her instincts told her to lunge at him, but the witch in her held her still, knowing that might be the death of her son.  “Can you imagine—” he began, reaching up a finger to push away unruly blonde locks from Scorpius’ forehead, “—looking on as someone _threatened_ someone so significant to you?  Right in front of you, and you could do nothing.  Imagine how that must feel.”

 

“What do you want?” Hermione snapped, hand slowly moving toward her pocket.

 

“For now, I need you to hold still,” he said, and she was suddenly immobile.  “There.  Much better.  Weasley and Potter, I see.  Weasley girl, what’s your name?  Your maiden name?”

 

“Flynn,” Anna responded, swallowing as Dolohov approached her.

 

“Flynn.  Hm.  I recognize that name.  I think I killed your parents.”  Anna’s whole body shook, and Hermione could see her fists clenching from here.  “At least Weasley and Potter aren’t tainting the bloodline,” he continued, throwing Hermione a quick smile, “And you, blondie, who are you?”

 

“Chelsea Lestrange,” Chelsea managed to gasp out.

 

“Lestrange?  So, you’re the bastard child?  Your mother was Druella Rosier, just a few years after Cygnus died and few before she did.  Oh, if only Draco had known you.”  Dolohov stopped in front of Chelsea, lifting one hand to trace her mouth.  “Goodness, you’re pretty.  Would you like to hold your son?”

 

A tear slipped down Hermione’s cheek as she watched Dolohov unbind Chelsea and hold out Scorpius.  Chelsea’s gaze flickered to Hermione, her arms held down by her sides by her own will, and Hermione just blinked, eyes closing to the world.  Chelsea took Scorpius, and Dolohov smiled.

 

“Good, good.  I’m sure you’ve always wanted to be a Malfoy,” Dolohov whispered, leaning closer to her and fixing a loose strand of blonde hair, “You can be.  I can give you that.  Draco would be so pleased to have such a _pretty_ wife for his own.  You just have to do one thing for me, to seal the deal.”  Chelsea met his gaze, her eyes threatening to break with tears.  “Kill the bastard son of Hermione Granger.”

 

Chelsea gasped, and her grip tightened on Scorpius, trying to shield him.  “You understand, I’m sure,” Dolohov said, straightening, “Bellatrix tried to do the very same to you many times.  If Rodolphus hadn’t sent you off to Beauxbatons,” he trailed off, smiling devilishly, “Who knows what would have happened to so _pretty_ a woman.  I daresay, Draco will cherish you, especially after his Mudblood is gone.”

 

“No!” Chelsea exclaimed, leaning away from him, “Please don’t hurt Hermione.”

 

“Oh?  What’s this?  _Loyalty_ with the impure?  You’ve brainwashed my subjects,” Dolohov accused, moving his wand to Hermione’s direction, “How dare you.  Oh no, you won’t speak,” he added as she opened her mouth, silencing her with a flick of his wrist.  “Regardless,” he paused to sigh and turn back to Chelsea, “I think you’ll do just fine without her influence.  Come now, love, we have places to be.”  He forced Chelsea to her feet, and they all realized his intentions far too late as he gripped her elbow, and the three disappeared with a crack.

 

Hermione screamed, the noise falling on deaf ears, and she struggled with all her might and will, but to those beyond her body, it looked as though she remained still.  She knew her friends fought, but she also knew they could not escape the grasp of Dolohov’s magic.  Tears fell unchecked down Hermione’s face, and her body convulsed with the sobs.  This couldn’t be happening, not to her baby.

 

Narcissa found them like this, dropping by to pay her grandson and daughter-in-law a visit.  She gasped at Ginny’s explanation and quickly unbound them all.  And when she turned to say something, Hermione was gone, skirting out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

 

“Are you coming or staying?” Ginny asked of Anna, already going after Hermione.

 

“I think you should stay,” Narcissa said softly, touching her shoulder, “I’m going to need help rounding up all the children and keeping them safe.”  Her words trailed off as Ginny reappeared, clutching a torn piece of parchment in her hands.  She flashed them the note, her body shaking.

 

_Not a word._

And Ginny sat back down at the island and pulled the guest list toward her.  She started to flick through the RSVPs while Anna and Narcissa stared at her.  She remembered the note, remembered it from the summer her brother, her love, and her best friend had disappeared, remembered finding it on her pillow the night they left, remembered knowing exactly what it meant: that she knew everything, but she had to pretend she knew nothing.  She couldn’t speak about what they’d just witnessed because they weren’t alone, and she felt the familiar fear of her life at Hogwarts trickling back through her.  Albus and James were safe; she just had to believe that.

 

\--

 

Draco looked down at his watch, frowning.  Where _were_ they?  He sighed and crossed his arms, hiding his watch so he wouldn’t keep staring at it; it was already half past, and Harry and Ron were never this late.  Finally, though, another fifteen minutes clicked by, and he headed off back to the elevator, punching in Harry’s floor.  When he arrived at his door, he waited five minutes and a few knocks before stepping in.  The room looked as though Harry had just walked out a minute ago.  Fresh ink still dripped from a quill left unattended over a piece of parchment.  He’d been halfway through a sentence, Draco noted as he put the quill away and capped the well.  His jacket was still hung up on the hanger, and a book was open on the floor.  He lifted it, closing it and fixing the now-bent pages.  As he looked down, he noticed a drawer was slightly open, and he went to close it when his curiosity got the better of him, and he opened it instead, brow furrowing.

 

Files sat there, files of Death Eaters, and they looked as though they’d been recently rifled through.  Draco lifted them, skimming through, and there was one glaring file missing.  Dolohov.  Draco’s heart thumped in his chest as he looked up from the files, frantic.  He quickly shoved them back in the drawer and slammed it shut before racing out of the room and down the hall.  Ron’s office wasn’t far; they could still be here.

 

He didn’t bother knocking; his shaky fingers already told him he’d find Ron’s office in the same sudden disarray.  A paper was just fluttering to the floor as he entered, and he jumped forward, catching it.  Hermione’s scrawl stared back at him, and he read even as the edges burned, devouring the parchment so no one else would ever see it.

 

_I’m sorry.  Get the kids, and go home.  They can’t leave.  Seal the house.  Don’t tell anyone.  I love you._

And that was it.  Despite his mind reeling, Draco apparated to the Burrow where Mrs. Weasley was watching the children for the day.  “Molly!” he called as he entered the house.  Something was wrong.  Hermione hadn’t asked him to get Scorpius.  “Molly!”

 

“Draco, dear, what brings you here so early?” the bustling Mrs. Weasley commented, coming down the stairs with a laundry basket under her arm.

 

“Molly, where are the kids?”

 

“They should be upstairs.  I just put them down about an hour ago for their nap.  Is everything okay?” she called up as Draco ran past her.  He pushed open the door, and his heart nearly stopped.  Albus was holding onto the edge of his crib, looking over at the door curiously while Rose fidgeted, mouth open in a silent scream.  Draco released the charm, and her wails erupted into the wrecked room.  Dying fire scorched the walls, and Scorpius’ crib had been turned over.

 

Draco jumped forward, scooping up Albus in one arm and Rose in the other.  Molly was just coming back up the stairs when he came out from the room, James holding her hand.  “We have to leave.  _Now_ ,” he hissed.  Molly looked at him a moment before nodding and going past him.  Draco settled the two children in their seats before hurrying into the kitchen and gathering their things.  When he returned, Molly had a bag slung over her shoulder and the seats in each of her hands; James stood in front of her.

 

“Go to my manor.  I’ll tell Arthur and my father.  Take care of them.”  Molly kissed him on the cheek before stepping back and apparating.  Draco followed her a moment later, reappearing at Hermione’s parents’ house.  He staggered back a step at the flames that engulfed it, but he shook his head and ran forward.  They were standing across the street, and Draco could already hear sirens approaching.

 

“Draco!” Jean exclaimed, obviously shocked at his sudden appearance.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered before taking their wrists and closing his eyes.  When he opened them again, the couple was screaming, and they were standing just beyond his gates.  He could already see the front door to his house opening, and his father glanced down the way at them, taking note of his son before jogging down to meet them.

 

“What’s going on?” he asked, nodding to Jean and George.

 

“Take them back to my house, okay?  I have to go back to the Ministry and find Arthur.  Dolohov.”  Lucius’ eyes went wide, and he understood, stepping through the gates.

 

“ _What_ is going on?” Jean shrieked, stumbling away from the two Malfoys.

 

“Hermione will explain everything,” he lied, hot tears biting at his eyes.  “Just go with my father, please, and she’ll explain.”  Reluctantly, they allowed Lucius to take hold of their arms, and Draco watched them disapparate before doing so himself.

 

He ran through a list of names in his head, trying to decide if there was anyone else they needed to protect, but he came up short.  Dolohov wouldn’t go after his friends; he only meant to harm Hermione.  Arthur didn’t ask twice as Draco entered his office and closed the door.  He simply stood, put on his jacket, and they were gone with a crack.  He had never before been able to sympathize with Ginny until this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Dun dun duh!


	32. xxxii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something inside him snapped, and he quietly slipped out of the room and into Scorpius’. If he hadn’t been so wrapped in himself, he may have never left, and he may have never found his son.

_xxxii._

_You sing and I’m killed_

_I’m just not the same_

_August thirtieth._

_2007._

Hermione felt like it had been only yesterday that she had first done this.  She tugged on a pair of blue jeans, ripped in various places, with the frayed white covering most of the holes, and a black grey sweater before tugging on her Doc Marten boots and lacing them up.  When she reappeared into the hallway, Ron was just descending the stairs and shrugging on his black jacket.  Underneath that, he wore a white-shirt over light, worn jeans.

 

“Hey,” he greeted, offering a stoic expression.  She hated that she’d dragged them into this, but she hadn’t known who else to turn to.  “Harry should be down in a second.  He stopped in Sirius’ room.  You know how he is.”  Hermione nodded.  It had been a long time since she had been here, in Grimmauld Place, but she knew Harry visited every so often.

 

When he did finally find them in the kitchen, he was wearing a black and grey plaid button-up over dark blue jeans.  The three of them stood there a moment, wrapped in the familiarity of the house until Hermione couldn’t stand the silence anymore.  “I’m sorry.”

 

Harry and Ron shot her identical looks of shock.  “You seriously think we would have turned you away, Mione?” Ron asked, sounding almost angry, “Honestly, after all these years, you should know we don’t do anything without the other.  Scorpius is your son, Hermione.”

 

“He’s not going to stop,” Hermione whispered, not meeting their eyes, “Dolohov.  He’s not going to stop until I’m dead.”

 

“Which is why we’re going to kill him first.”  Hermione looked up, and even Ron glanced over at Harry.  Even fighting against Voldemort, they’d never heard such conviction in his voice.  He _wanted_ to kill Dolohov.  “Okay,” he said after a few seconds, “Do we have everything we need?  Our plan is to _not_ need the tent.  I really just want to find Dolohov, get rid of him, and save Scorpius.  Remember, clear heads.  Let’s head out.”  Harry held out one his hands, and Hermione looked at her two best friends before grasping his and Ron’s hand and closing her eyes.

 

\--

 

Draco sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.  He was almost as angry with Hermione as he was worried about Scorpius.  Had he known he’d be trapped inside the house, he’d never have gone inside and instead have gone to find her.  For the third time that day, he swore and began his pacing again.  He still couldn’t believe the three of them had charmed the house to contain its inhabitants.  It infuriated him.

 

He could hear the voices of the women downstairs, still working on their plans for the ball.  He knew they only continued because they couldn’t bear to think about what was happening, but it still maddened him.  He could barely keep still, let alone chitchat about mundane things.  Draco looked up as there was a knock on the door, and he relaxed a little as he recognized his mother.

 

“May I come in?”  She entered without waiting for a reply, and Draco smiled as he noticed Albus in her arms.  “He was getting restless.  All this activity has upset him,” she murmured, rocking him softly as she moved about the room, keeping a constant, slow pace.  “I never thought, in my lifetime, that I would be holding the child of Harry Potter and be thankful.  He is such a beautiful little boy; they are blessed to have such wonderful children.  Can you even believe it, Draco?” she sighed, turning to face him, “After all this fighting, and here I am, rocking a Potter to sleep and in the same house, civilly, willingly, and happily, as a Weasley and two Muggles.  It’s amazing, and I’m so glad my life has turned out this way.  I’m so proud of you.  Draco,” she scoffed when he turned his gaze away, “You have grown into a respectable young man.  I couldn’t be happier to call you my son.  Hermione left with Harry and Ron for a very good reason and not with you.  You remember what it was like seeing her at the Manor those long years ago.  You remember how difficult it was for you.  She didn’t want you to experience that.  That, and I’m sure she feels much more comfortable with Harry and Ron.  You may be the man she loves, but those are her best friends, people she would trust her life with, and I’m sure she has grown accustomed to doing things like this with them and only them.  Remember how long it took you to open up to Crabbe and Goyle after you’d spent your entire childhood with Theodore and Blaise?  You hated them for so long, and I know you still do, at times.”

 

Draco sighed as his mother finished, crossing his arms.  Albus made a soft noise, content and sleepy, and Draco realized his throat felt swollen and raw.  His eyes itched, burning with a threat of something normally disguised.  He blinked, lowering his chin and turning away from Narcissa, clearing his throat softly.  Scorpius was in danger, and he could do nothing about it.

 

Something inside him snapped, and he quietly slipped out of the room and into Scorpius’.  If he hadn’t been so wrapped in himself, he may have never left, and he may have never found his son.

 

\--

 

Hermione took the bottle from Harry, tipping the rest of the water down her throat before replenishing it with her wand.  They’d stopped to rest on the edge of a forest, though Hermione wished they could keep moving.  She hated to be standing still, to be thinking that, at any moment, Scorpius would be lost, and Dolohov would win.

 

Hermione shook the thought from her mind, and Ron looked up as she broke off into a run.  She couldn’t be here, she couldn’t stop.  She knew they would follow because they always did, and she felt bad, but she couldn’t stop.  She couldn’t lose her baby boy, she couldn’t surrender to this murderer.

 

\--

 

Draco froze, staring back into the haunted gaze of Antonin Dolohov.  He had never left the manor.  He stared and stared, disbelieving, and then Scorpius stirred in his crib, rolling over, and his eyes found Draco.  He wasn’t sure how Scorpius understood, but the little boy looked at his father, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and didn’t make a sound, just continued to fix his gaze on Draco.

 

“I was wondering just how long it would take,” Dolohov said, shrugging and moving to sit.

 

Draco didn’t think twice.  He didn’t spare his son another glance for fear Dolohov would notice, and he didn’t look around for Chelsea.  He didn’t want this conversation, he didn’t want to hear the poison of Dolohov’s words.  He felt numb as the words left his mouth even as he yanked his wand out of his pocket.  Dolohov was clearly surprised, clearly expected some reaction more than the Killing Curse immediately.  And he died with this look of shock.

 

Draco felt cold.

 

He stepped forward, looking at Dolohov, and then Scorpius whimpered, and he was rushed back to reality.  He hurried over to the crib, air rushing out of his lungs as tears broke through his walls.  He lifted his son in his arms, holding him close, and his body betrayed him, his knees crumbling to the ground as he shook with relief and fear.  He had been so terrified of losing his family, and now he just needed Hermione back in his arms, and everything would be alright.  He knew that she’d charmed the house, but somehow he was able to escape.

 

\--

 

Hermione kept moving even as Harry and Ron dusted themselves off, and she bounded right into the decrepit house.  Dolohov had done nothing to hide Chelsea’s body.  Hermione gasped and staggered to a halt as she found the girl, her blonde hair splayed out behind her head like she’d tossed through a night of sleep, her limbs in awkward positions and her eyes squeezed shut.  Her mouth was open in an unheard scream, and her clothes were torn.

 

She fell to her knees, one hand touching Chelsea’s hair, and she made the decision she hadn’t been able to make so many years ago when deciding just what to do with her life.  She couldn’t let this happen to another of her friends, she couldn’t put her family in risk any longer.  She had to protect them, just as she had before.

 

“Hermione,” came Harry’s voice, cracked and hollow.  Her eyebrows pulled together, and she started to turn as she heard a baby’s cry.  She flew to her feet just as Draco stepped through the doorway, a sobbing Scorpius clutched against him.

 

“He never left the Manor.  He’s dead,” her husband whispered, eyes glistening with tears, and Hermione crossed the distance, grasping for her love and her son.  She held onto them tightly, Draco’s hand fisting in her hair and lips crushing to her forehead.  “I love you,” he gasped, and she grabbed at him, desperate to never let him go.

 

“I love you,” she responded, her voice heavy and strong.

 

\--

 

_September third._

_2007._

Hermione smoothed her braided hair behind her before looking over herself once more.  She was wearing nice black pants, red leather heels, and a flowing white shirt that had the back cut out across her shoulders, replaced instead with flowery black lace.  She knocked lightly on the marble door before her, taking in a long, steadying breath before entering at Aeos’ call from inside.  He was just finishing, with a flourish, a signature, and he looked up with a smile as she clicked in.

 

“Ah, Mrs. Malfoy, and what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”  She knew he was being polite, knew that he knew she didn’t like him, but she had to do this, had to convince him.

 

Hermione came to the edge of his desk and stared at him a moment before bracing her fingers against the wood and leaning forward a little.  Scorpius’ face flashed in her mind, terrified and in the arms of Chelsea, and her eyes narrowed.  Aeos straightened a little, seeming to read her mind somehow.

 

“I want to destroy all of them,” she said, and Aeos nodded, his face hard.

 

“I can’t allow you without proper training, but—” he added quickly as she opened her mouth, “—I will ask Harry and Ron to privately run you through everything so that you will be prepared, though in a timely fashion.  I have one other condition, Mrs. Malfoy, and it is not purely for the benefit of the Ministry but also so that none may be led onto your desires.”

 

“The ball,” she said, nodding and straightening, “No one will suspect a thing.”

 

“I want this to remain between the three of you.”

 

“No,” Hermione said immediately, “And that is my condition.”

 

“This is not a raid, Mrs. Malfoy, this—”

 

“My name is Hermione.  You call Harry and Ron by their first names, and you will do the same with me.  I know it isn’t a raid.  I know this is a specific attack.  I know this isn’t under the Ministry’s jurisdiction.  I’m not asking for any of your Aurors.  I’m asking for a few others to be trained alongside me.  Ginny Potter, Anna Weasley, Draco Malfoy, and Pansy Zabini.”

 

“Not Theodore and Blaise?”

 

“You implied you didn’t want any of your Aurors involved in this.”

 

“You may have them.  Mrs. Mal—Hermione,” he corrected himself, “When?”

 

“After the ball, about a week.  Until then, we’ll all be drawing up plans.”

 

“This conversation never happened, Mrs. Malfoy,” he said, and Hermione understood the dismissal of her name in this instance; they were being formal, acting as though they hadn’t just decided the death of every one of Voldemort’s active followers.  “I don’t want anything to appear in the Prophet.  Good day.”

 

Hermione clicked back out without another word, though Aeos sighed when she left, looking down at the burning parchment she’d left on his desk.

 

_Thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> Happy birthday, Harry!


	33. xxxiii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco looked down suddenly to find Hermione fast asleep, and he instinctively dog-eared the page, dropped it between them, and closed his arms around her, pulling her close and holding her tight.

_xxxiii._

_As I was a year ago_

_And each minute then_

_September eighth._

_2007._

Hermione stared into the mirror, trying to convince herself that everything was going to be alright.  It was the night of the ball, and her heart had been pounding all throughout work.  She just didn’t know if she could stand what would be occurring in the next few months of her life.  She descended to the front door, however, when the doorbell rang, and she let Molly Weasley in with a half-hearted smile.

 

“Are you going to be okay?” Molly asked, as those closest to her had recently, and Hermione shrugged.  She led the way upstairs where Draco was rocking Scorpius to sleep.  Neither of them had spent much time away from their son, and now they weren’t ready to let him go.

 

“Draco,” Hermione said from the doorway, and she watched him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes.  It rocked her; Draco had hardly ever cried since she’d first known him.  She had shed her fair share of tears, though, and her eyes were all dried out.

 

Finally, he stood, set Scorpius into his seat after kissing him goodbye, and handed him over to Molly.  “Please take care of him,” he whispered before disappearing out of the room.  Hermione stroked a finger over his cheek, frowning as he stirred, before she leaned in to kiss him, as well, and then Molly was gone, as planned.  She already had everything she needed, and Hermione couldn’t help but choke back a sob as she watched her son and Mrs. Weasley disappear.

 

It was time to get ready, though, and she had to put on a brave face for tonight to fool the wizarding world of their plan.  Her dress was a startling white with a slit that ran up her left leg nearly to her hip and a halter-style top in which both of the straps wound around her left shoulder.  Three diamond lines cut across the middle, winding down into the slit, and she wore heeled silver shoes.  Her hair she curled and pinned one side back before fixing her cloak over her shoulders and going to find Draco.  They left by apparition and were exiting the green flames in the Ministry in seconds.

 

Almost instantly, they were met with Ron and Anna, who was wearing an almost magenta dress that was see-through on the bottom, layered on top of a wild purple and orange cheetah print.  The sweetheart bust was encrusted in purple and pink jewels atop a pink band.  Harry and Ginny stood behind her, Ginny in a strapless periwinkle dress with hints of light purple; small jewels dotted the bust and a sash around the middle.

 

The group stood in silence for some time until Harry cleared his throat, nodded, and they walked past the statue of Dumbledore and toward the floor where the ball was well underway.  Draco left to say hello to Aeos with Harry and Ron while the girls talked amongst themselves.

 

“I didn’t even want to come,” Anna admitted, shaking her head, “Work was wretched today.”

 

“It really was,” Hermione agreed, “I’m glad we hired that new girl, though.  She’ll be a good addition so Jane and Briony can run the place while we’re gone.  C’mon, we really need to make this look realistic.  Let’s go get some food and find a table.”

 

And off the went, saying hello to different people as they went.  A few times, they were stopped and chatted, but, before long, they found themselves seated with chairs in between.  Moments after they’d settled in, their husbands found them and sat, as well.

 

The  night carried on like this, with each of them on edge.  In the end, Pansy had just shaken her head and told them she couldn’t.  Hermione watched as her hand rested absentmindedly on her stomach.  She knew Pansy would tell them after, when their minds weren’t so worried, but she had seen the motion nonetheless.  Blaise, always careful of his wife, had declined immediately afterward.  And when they approached Theodore, he just apologized.  And so it was the six of them, as Hermione had thought it always would be.

 

They danced, and they talked; they laughed, and they entertained; but, in the end, as they were bidding everyone goodnight and being congratualated on a job well done by Aeos, they were hard-pressed to find smiles.

 

Hermione left for Draco’s office once they’d finally cleared out and cleaned up, and she quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before throwing on a sweatshirt, jacket, and her scarf.  Draco came to find her just as she was lacing on her Doc Martens, a backpack in his hand.  He got dressed in silence, and they stood to leave.

  
“Hermione,” he whispered, and she immediately folded into his arms, holding onto him tightly.  “I love you.”

 

“And I love you, Draco,” she whispered before leaning back and pressing a delicate kiss to his mouth.

 

“When all this is over,” he murmured, kissing her forehead, “I have a surprise for you.”

 

They walked out, hand-in-hand, where they met the other four by the fireplaces.  “Right,” Harry said, “We’re going to start in Azkaban.  I have the orders for the Death Eaters.  Is everyone sure about this?”

 

And so began the massacre.

 

\--

 

_September sixteenth._

_2007._

Hermione had her fingers buried in Ginny’s hair, braiding it down her back, when there was a loud crack and then a scream.  She hastily pulled her fingers out and tied Ginny’s braid off halfway through before the two women jumped to their feet and ran to where Anna was falling to her knees and crouching.  Harry was covered in blood, blood that was not his own, and he was frantically ripping Ron’s clothes off as he went.  Hermione tossed her purse to the ground and looked over Ron’s wounds once before rifling through her purse and finding three separate vials.  She handed one to Harry, one to Draco, and she kept one for herself, not trusting either Anna or Ginny and their currently shaking hands and pale faces.  And so the three of them dropped the potions onto Ron’s open wounds, sealing them before Hermione worked a healing spell over him.

 

“What happened?” she demanded when she rested back on her heels.

 

“We were ambushed.  Someone knew we were coming, and there was a dozen of them.  We got seven; I know that for sure.  And then Ron got hit, and we just apparated as fast as we could.  Do you remember when we had that dueling club second year?” Harry had directed this question to Draco, and Ron surprised them all by snorting in laughter.

 

“When you egged the snake on to attack Justin Finch-Fletchley, and then he was petrified not long after.”

 

“Thanks, Ronald,” Harry said with a small smile, “I was thinking about dueling you while we were back there and how, if we were against each other now, I would be pretty terrified.  Hermione, have you _seen_ this guy in action?”

 

“I was there last week, Harry,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes, and they all stayed there a moment longer until Ron grumbled something incoherent, and Harry and Hermione heaved him up and off toward the tent.  Hermione had shopped around before they’d left, and this tent was much unlike any of them had ever been in.  It split off from the small gathering area right when you walked in to five different directions, first a little kitchen with a table, then a longer table where they could all comfortably gather to talk and plan, and, finally, three separate rooms.

 

Hermione spent some time with Ron tidying him up and making sure he was well enough before leaving him in Anna’s care and retreating to her room where Draco was sitting cross-legged, his body curled over a book.  He held out his arm without looking up, and Hermione went over to him, smiling.  The book was clearly worn, and he’d wrapped the front cover over to better hold.  He reclined, taking Hermione with him, and she snuggled against him, kicking off her shoes and meshing their legs as she laid her head on his shoulder and he opened his mouth, breathed in, and began.

 

“At a sound, she started.  The bedroom door was opening and Robbie stood before them.1”  Hermione gasped, and she felt Draco smile against her, his cheek on her forehead, before he continued, “He wore army trousers and polished boots, and his braces hung free at his waist.  He was unshaven and tousled, and his gaze was on Cecilia only.  She had turned to face him, but she did not go toward him.  In the seconds during which they looked at each other in silence, Briony, partly obscured by her sister, shrank into her uniform.1.”

 

Draco paused to breathe and to kiss Hermione passionately.  When they parted, he stroked her hair before sticking his thumb in the book and sitting to untie and pull off his shoes.  When he’d finished, he pulled up the blankets to their small bed, tucked them under it like a tent, and opened his mouth, the whisper of the pages soothing Hermione to close her eyes.

 

“He spoke to Cecilia quietly, as though they were alone.  “I heard voices and I guessed it was something to do with the hospital.”  “That’s all right.”  He looked at his watch.  “Better get moving.”  As he crossed the room, just before he went out onto the landing, he made a brief nod in Briony’s direction.  “Excuse me.”  They heard the bathroom door close.  Into the silence Cecilia said, as if there was nothing between her and her sister, “He sleeps so deeply.  I didn’t want to wake him.”  Then she added, “I thought it would be better if you didn’t meet.”  Briony’s knees were actually beginning to tremble.1”

 

Draco looked down suddenly to find Hermione fast asleep, and he instinctively dog-eared the page, dropped it between them, and closed his arms around her, pulling her close and holding her tight.

 

\--

 

_October second._

_2007._

“ _Anapneo_!” Harry shouted, and Hermione gasped out a thanks before she turned her wand on a Death Eater.

 

“ _Confringo_!”  His screams were silenced by the roaring flames that engulfed him, and Hermione watched for only a moment before disarming him, catching his wand, and snapping it.  She stuffed the pieces in her purse before shouting a hex over her shoulder.  Draco caught her wrist, his thumb pressing in against her skin, a motion they used to identify each other, and she stood by his side, firing hexes and curses as fast as she could.

 

“YAXLEY!”

 

The name rang across the square, and Hermione’s arm shook as the ground did beneath her.  Seconds later, a blonde ponytail touched her foot, and she jumped back.  Draco was panting, his wand trained on Yaxley.  “I heard Dolohov—”  But whatever Yaxley had been about to say, Draco refused to hear it, and Hermione watched in shock as he performed the Killing Curse flawlessly.  It astonished and frightened her everytime she really saw how much this had affected him.

 

\--

 

_October twentysixth._

_2007._

“I know this house.”  Hermione, Draco, Harry, and Anna looked at Ron and Ginny as they stared, heads cocked, and then they looked at the house, as well, and, slowly, they all started to recognize it.  They trudged on forward, though they stopped when a little boy with red hair came running, at top speed, out of the house.

 

“Fred!” a woman’s voice hollered before none other than Angelina Johnson came out of the house next, chasing after the boy.  “Fred Weasley the second, get back here!”

 

“Ang,” another voice interrupted her tirade, and she broke off to stare back at her husband, George Weasley, but he had broken off and was staring slack-jawed at his brother and sister.  “What are you doing here?” he exclaimed, exiting the house and hurrying over to them, pulling Ginny and Ron into tight hugs before turning to the rest of the group.  “Mum said you were going to be gone for some time.  I never thought I’d see you again,” he admitted.  “Tell me, tell me everything.  It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

 

They remained silent, however, and it took George a moment before he understood, straightening.  “I want to help,” he said, suddenly, surprising them until Ginny nodded, took his hand, and walked away toward the house with them.

 

Angelina was watching them where she’d caught Fred, and she just stared and stared before closing her eyes.  She had already lost Fred, and she didn’t know if she could bare losing George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.


	34. xxxiv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watched as his little son tottered around the tree, sometimes using the branches to steady himself. He continued to walk around it a few more times before he plunged inside, giggling and dancing. He stamped his feet, the only part of him visible, and Draco nearly doubled over before kneeling down and poking a hand through.

_xxxiv._

_My jumper tears_

_As we take it off_

_November sixth._

_2007._

“Read to us,” Hermione whispered, pushing Draco’s blonde hair away from his face.  He smiled before kissing Scorpius on the forehead and shifting so that he could support his head higher.

 

Just three days after George had joined them, they’d discovered an old, beaten down house that claimed the tenants of eighteen Death Eaters.  George had nearly gotten his other ear blown off while Ron was still nursing his broken fingers back to full functioning.  Harry had only just woken up in Mungo’s from a rather nasty explosion, and Hermione had various bruises and gashes that she’d needed tending to.  And now here they were, their family back together again, and the couple had settled into a routine they’d once long forgotten.

 

“He stared at her, lips slightly parted.  He really had changed in five years.  The hardness in his gaze was new, and the eyes were smaller and narrower, and in the corners were the firm prints of crow’s feet.  His face was thinner than she remembered, the cheeks were sunken, like an Indian’s brave.  He had grown a little tooth-brush mustache in the military style.  He was startlingly handsome, and there came back to her from years ago, when she was ten or eleven, the memory of a passion she’d had for him, a real crush that had lasted days.  Then she confessed it to him one morning in the garden and immediately forgot about it.  She had been right to be wary.  He was gripped by the kind of anger that passes itself off as wonderment.  “Growing up,” he echoed.  When he raised his voice she jumped.  “Goddamnit!  You’re eighteen.  How much growing up do you need to do?  There are soldiers dying in the field at eighteen.  Old enough to be left to die on the roads.  Did you know that?”  “Yes.”  It was a pathetic source of comfort, that he could not know what she had seen.  Strange, that for all her guilt, she should feel the need to withstand him.  It was that, or be annihilated.1”

 

“Read me something softer,” Hermione whispered, teetering on the edge of sleep.  It was so dark outside, and Draco smiled as he flipped toward the beginning of the book.

 

“They moved closer, deeper and then, for seconds on end, everything stopped.  Instead of an ecstatic frenzy, there was stillness.  They were stilled not by the astonishing fact of arrival, but by an awed sense of return—they were face to face in the gloom, staring into what little they could see of each other’s eyes, and now it was the impersonal that dropped away.  Of course, there was nothing abstract about a face.1”

 

Draco’s eyes drooped once, twice, and he fell asleep with the book on his chest, opened to a random flipped page, with Hermione’s hands and legs tangled with his own, and with his son breathing softly against his arm.

 

\--

 

_November seventh._

_2007._

Draco flourished his hand at the door as someone knocked, allowing it to swing open.  He looked up briefly before turning back to his paper, but something caught him, and he almost immediately looked back up again.  A girl stood at his door, and she thanked the Unspeakable that had brought her in, but she looked so much like—

 

“I’m Chelsea Lestrange’s daughter,” she said, not stepping inside, though not appearing hostile.  Draco was momentarily frozen to his chair, but then she was speaking again, “I wanted to come by to say thank you.  I—I’ve never met someone so brave before.  You went after all those Death Eaters, and you avenged my mother.  My name is Isabella, by the way.  I think what you did was incredible.”

 

“How did you find out?” Draco asked, motioning her in.

 

“The Minister wrote me.  He said I had a right to know what was going on after what had happened to my mother.”

 

“How old are you?”  He had to know.  She looked so young, and yet so tainted by a war that wasn’t hers.

 

“Eighteen.  I just graduated Hogwarts last year.  She was very young when she had me.  My father is Rudolphus Lestrange.  He came to my mother when Bellatrix was at her worst, pining for Voldemort, and they fell in love.”  Draco just sat, numbed.  There was so much that he never would have believed had Chelsea told him herself.  “I just recently took a job at the Ministry, though I’m working in a different department.  I—I just wanted to say thank you,” she said again, bowing her head.

 

“Isabella,” Draco murmured, standing, “If ever you need anything, please let me know.”  He crossed the room to her and took her hand, squeezing it.  “You are not alone in this fight.”

 

“And neither are you,” she said, smiling at him before taking her leave.  He stayed there in his open doorway for some time, disbelieving, before he gathered his coat, his book, and he made his way out of his office.  His work could wait.  His family could not.

 

\--

 

_November seventeenth._

_2007._

Draco laughed as Scorpius slapped his shoulders and pointed wildly to a tree down the line.  “That one, then?” he said, bringing his son over as Hermione smiled and watched them go.  She hung back with Ginny, talking to her while the boys shopped.

 

“Daddy!” Scorpius whined, reaching out and grabbing at the Christmas tree.  He hung onto the branch, and Draco stopped, bringing him closer.

 

“You think this one is good?”

 

“Daddy, down!”  Draco laughed again before setting Scorpius down, and he watched as his little son tottered around the tree, sometimes using the branches to steady himself.  He continued to walk around it a few more times before he plunged inside, giggling and dancing.  He stamped his feet, the only part of him visible, and Draco nearly doubled over before kneeling down and poking a hand through.

 

“Are you quite done?” he said, tickling Scorpius’ tummy, and he just giggled harder and squirmed away, stomping out of the tree again and latching onto Draco’s leg.

 

“Daddy!” he exclaimed, shaking one of the branches, and Draco just smiled before standing again and motioning toward the owner.

 

“How much?”  They exchanged the money before Draco turned to pick up Scorpius again only to find him gone.  He dropped back to his knees to look for his feet, and he caught them running down the line of trees.  He sighed, smiling, before heading off to go scoop him up.  However, he came to a halt in the face of Gregory Goyle.

 

“Malfoy,” he said, and Draco straightened, eyes meeting his old friend.

 

He was about to say something when Scorpius’ voice rang out, “Daddy!  Daddy!”  The little boy came scampering toward him, and Draco bent to pick him up.

  
“Everything okay?” he asked, standing and pushing his hair away from his forehead.

 

“Daddy,” he mumbled, pushing his head in the crook between Draco’s jaw and shoulder.

 

When he didn’t say anything further, Draco turned back to Goyle, nodding.  “How are you?”

 

“Well.  I never thought I’d see you again.  I heard you’ve kept friendships with Zabini and Nott, though.”

 

“I have, yes.”

 

“Draco?”  He turned at Hermione’s voice, and he frowned at Goyle’s intake of breath.

 

“So it is true.  You _did_ taint the bloodline?”

 

“You’re really still on about this?  I thought we’d made it very clear that that was over.  Maybe when Harry defeated Voldemort,” he spat, glaring at Goyle.

 

“Oh, you think you’re on their side just because you say his name now?”

 

“No, I think I’m on their side because I helped destroyed every Death Eater that ever threatened my family and friends.”

 

“That was _you_?”  Though Aeos had decided he didn’t want their mission reaching the Daily Prophet, it had only been a matter of time before the sudden deaths of those loyal in Azkaban had reached the reporter’s ears.  He knew it would gain him many enemies, but their anonymity was also on his side.

 

“Of course it was me.  I don’t want to run into you and have such a conversation again, Goyle.”

 

“Is that a threat?”

 

Hermione stopped beside him as Scorpius straightened from his hiding place and narrowed his eyes at Goyle, mimicking his father.  “Yes, it is,” Draco said with finality before taking Hermione’s hand and leading her away.

 

“Was that Gregory Goyle?” she asked quietly.

 

“It was.  C’mon, Scorp picked out a tree.”

 

“Scorp?”

  
“He likes it.  Right, Scorp?”

 

“Dra!” he exclaimed happily, and Hermione laughed.

 

“You two are silly.  Are we ready?  I’m freezing, and he needs to get home to open his presents.”

 

“Presents!” Scorpius cried, and they just smiled before heading back to their tree.

 

“We’ll meet you guys back at the manor, yea?” Hermione said, and Ginny and Anna nodded as the boys chased after their children.  And, with that, they apparated with the tree.

 

Once home, Draco went to put the tree in the living room while Hermione took Scorpius upstairs to change him into his pajamas.  She met her husband back in the living room, setting Scorpius down on the floor where he played with his new train set.

 

“I’m going to go fix dinner.  Don’t let him climb in the tree again.”

 

Draco made himself comfortable opposite his son, watching happily as he made zooming noises and crashed his trains together.  He pushed a set of connected trains over to Draco, and the two played together until the door opened and Blaise’s voice filled the foyer.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Draco whispered, kissing his son on the head before getting up and going to greet his friend.  “Oh, look at you,” he exclaimed, embracing Pansy, who was positively glowing.

 

“Pansy!” Hermione gasped, hurrying over to hug her friend, “Oh gosh, you look wonderful!  Just wait until you see Ginny.  Can you even believe she didn’t tell us she was pregnant until halfway through our raid?”  The women’s voices trailed off as they exited back into the kitchen, and Blaise just grinned.

 

“I’m gonna be a dad, man,” he laughed, “Speaking of adorable children, where’s the birthday boy?”

 

“Smashing his trains together.  Looks like Theo is on his way up.  I still can’t believe he isn’t married yet.”

 

“You know how he is.  Always jumping from one bed to the next.  He—”

 

“—likes to party with the ladies.  And we all thought you’d be the bachelor forever, mister cold-hearted,” Theodore said as he entered through the open front door; Draco flicked his fingers to shut it.  He led them off into the living room where Scorpius shouted and slowly pushed himself onto his feet before stumbling over and reaching up his arms.  Blaise picked him up in a big bear hug before handing him over to Theodore, who rumpled his hair and made faces at him until Scorpius asked to be let down and ran back over to his trains.

 

“Play!” he yelped, and the three men went over, smiling, to play trains with him.

 

Near fifteen minutes later, the bell rang again, and Draco went to get it, letting in Harry, Ginny, Teddy, James, Albus, Ron, Anna, and Rose.  A half hour later, they tucked into dinner, hot pasta salad, chicken and steak from the grill, compliments to Draco, and an assortment of berries and apple slices with peanut butter.  Scorpius chattered throughout the whole meal, all nonsense and adorableness, and they opened presents after, laughing everytime he squealed and ended up with wrapping paper on his head or a bow stuck to his ear or nose.

 

Finally, though, they were bidding everyone goodnight, and Draco was presenting Hermione with a kiss and a whisper, “Tomorrow night, eight o’clock.  I have something planned.  Scorp is already taken care of.”  And when she tried to question him, he just silenced her with a kiss and laid her back on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.
> 
> I must warn you, the next chapter is very short. At least half of what the chapters normally are, but there’s a reason for it, and you’ll see why. I’m so sad to be ending this in one chapter, and I hope you enjoy it!


	35. xxxv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sound of a typewriter came first, and letters clicked through the background. Hermione let out a soft noise when Draco suddenly titled her face toward his, distracting her from the title, and she looked up in time to catch the frame of a dollhouse. The camera slowly panned away, following a trail of plastic animals until it settled on a little girl with a blonde bob in a chair, typing away.

_xxxv._

_And you say you’ll sew me good as new_

_And I know you will_

_November eighteenth._

_2007._

Hermione checked the last of the shelves for customers before giving Anna the okay and heading back into her office.  She signed three last order slips before putting together her closing folder.  Jane walked in just as she was holding it up, and she snatched it out of her hand before disappearing back into the store.

 

“So, you have no idea?  Gosh, the man does love surprises,” Anna said, collecting her jacket and scarf, “Did he tell you how to dress, at least?”

 

“Nice, but not too nice.  I’m going with a short dress.  The red one.”

 

“Oh, I love that one.  The one that goes, like, mid-thigh, right?  The strapless one?”

 

“With the layered pattern, yea.  Black heels and a black coat.”

 

“Not your usual Doc Martens,” Anna teased, hooking her arm with Hermione’s once the other witch had bundled herself up.

 

“Those are unbelievably comfortable, so shut up.  Alright, have a good night.”  Hermione embraced her friend before releasing her to the fireplace where Anna used the Floo Network.  Hermione checked to make sure Jane had left the store before locking up and apparating back to the manor.

 

When she got in, all the lights were off except in the kitchen, and she followed them into where Draco was bent over something.  “Stop peeking, and go get changed!” he yelled without looking up.

 

Hermione sighed, smiling, but did as instructed.  When she was ready an hour later, her hair was tumbling down in soft curls and she’d applied grey makeup on her eyes.  “Where are we going?” she whined for the hundredth time, pushing him into the counter playfully.

 

“I can’t tell you,” he said brushing his hair back off his forehead and not looking up again, “Are you ready?  We’re catching dinner first.  We’re on a schedule, though.”

 

“What are you reading?” she queried, leaning over.

 

He snatched it away before she could figure it out, cleared his throat, and put his back to the counter, “I’ve been standing at the window, feeling waves of tiredness beat the remaining strength from my body.  The floor seems to be undulating beneath my feet.  I’ve been watching the first gray light bring into view the park and the bridges over the vanished lake.  And the long narrow driveway down which they drove Robbie away, into the whiteness.  I like to think that it isn’t weakness or evasion, but a final act of kindness, a stand against oblivion and despair, to let my lovers live and to unite them at the end.  I gave them happiness, but I was not so self-serving as to let them forgive me.  Not quite, not yet.  If I had the power to conjure them at my birthday celebration… Robbie and Cecilia, still alive, still in love, sitting side by side in the library, smiling at _The Trials of Arabella_?  It’s not possible.  But now I must sleep. 1”

 

Hermione watched his face for a moment before smiling softly, “I remember that well.”

 

“I never read it to you,” he said, frowning, finally meeting her eyes.

 

“After I’d read it, one of the Snatchers, Scabior, came by, and he said something about the Malfoy Manor.  I knew you were okay.  I knew you were alive.  It was the first time I’d said your name since we’d parted.  I remember reading and rereading that paragraph.  I couldn’t stop.  I didn’t want to.”

 

“This will always be my favorite book, just because of you.”  She kissed him lightly, smiling the whole time, until he straightened them and was suddenly all business.  “C’mon, like I said, schedule.”

 

“Ugh,” Hermione teased, but she took his arm nonetheless and let him lead them to dinner, book forgotten on the counter.  It turned out to be a beautifully romantic date, where they laughed and acted as though they were so young, barely out of school, and their waitress even smiled happily down at them when she left their check.

 

But it was the next stop that really made Hermione confused.  Draco apparated them next to a movie theatre, and she blinked, looking over at him in wonder, but he just smiled and tugged her inside.  He already had tickets, which also surprised her, and he flashed them to the ticket person as they walked by.  It was an old-fashioned, handsome theatre, one she’d only been to a few times with her parents, and, even then, only when she was young.  He seemed to know his way around it, though she didn’t question him on this.

 

When they were seated, the chatted for a while longer until the lights dimmed, and they watched through the previews uninterestedly.  They weren’t much of movie goers, especially in the Muggle world, and they knew they wouldn’t be back to see any of these.  Finally, though, whatever he was meaning to show her began.

 

The sound of a typewriter came first, and letters clicked through the background.  Hermione let out a soft noise when Draco suddenly titled her face toward his, distracting her from the title, and she looked up in time to catch the frame of a dollhouse.  The camera slowly panned away, following a trail of plastic animals until it settled on a little girl with a blonde bob in a chair, typing away.  She had incredibly blue eyes that stared at the words THE END.  She’d just finished some piece of writing, and Hermione cocked her head, incredibly curious.

 

And there it was.

 

 _The Trials of Arabella_ by Briony Tallis.  The title on the front page of the girl’s—Briony’s—work stuck out like a sore thumb.  Hermione’s eyes widened as Briony stalked off out of her room and through the house, and she squeezed Draco’s hand.  The music in the background clicked like a typewriter, matching Briony’s sharp turns and deliberate movements.

 

“I finished my play,” Briony said, and Hermione gasped.

 

This couldn’t be.

 

And then there was Robbie, leaning against an outside doorway, brushing off his shoes before he laced them on.  Hermione almost fell over.  She turned to look at Draco, who was watching her with a brilliant smile.

 

“I love you,” he whispered.

 

He had taken her to see _Atonement_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Set Down Your Glass belong to Snow Patrol.
> 
> 1These lines are the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.
> 
> As I post this, the first chapter of Frivolous Thoughts goes up, and the first chapter of February Stars will follow two days later!
> 
> Where do I even begin? There are so many of you that I want to thank, and I don’t even know where to start. This has been one hectic journey. It has seen me through some tough and some wonderful times, but it’s always been there, in the back of my mind. Thank you, to every single one of you, for making this story what it was, and for giving it a chance. Your reviews have meant everything to me, and I am forever grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics from Make This Go On Forever belong to Snow Patrol. Also, the entire summary is the respective property of Ian McEwan’s novel Atonement.
> 
> If you’d like to follow updates on this story (as it’s still being written; I haven’t completely finished it yet), and, well, any of my stories, make sure to check back at my author page frequently as I’ll be putting up chapter statuses. You can also follow me on twitter (maryvanity), for I do usually post when chapters go up and, again, chapter statuses. And! At maryvanity, you’ll also receive little sneak peeks and tidbits here and there, which you will not get through HPFF.
> 
> Please note: if you happen to follow my twitter, this story will be referred to as GK (to save character space, honestly).


End file.
